


Okay, Let's Go

by Nejinee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, DCBB2015, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Genderswap, Humor, Kid Castiel, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, M/M, Romance, Schmoop, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, dcbb15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a hunt goes awry and turns into something bordering on the insane. Sometimes, shit just gets weird.</p><p>These are the excerpts, the hunts no one ever talks about, because Dean doesn't like to reminisce about the time he was toddler-sized. And Sam's just gonna bury the memory of the time he was female for a hot second. And Cas is such a dork sometimes, maybe Dean just wants to keep that nugget to himself?</p><p>Not every hunt is perfect, but who the hell ever expects them to be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [Gabrielseductivetrickster](http://gabrielseductivetrickster.tumblr.com) for the amazing art she designed for this fic. Such a pleasure to work with!
> 
> This is my first ever DCBB and it feels like it's been forever in the making.
> 
> So thank you, whoever you all are, for reading. :)

_“We don’t bring kids into this life. No way, no how.”_

—

“Oh thank _God_ ,” Sam all but hissed through his teeth as Bobby’s weather-worn home came into view. He couldn’t have been happier to see the old man leaning against the porch stair railing, arms folded, baseball cap firmly in place.

Sam yanked on the handbrake before even cutting the engine. The tires made a damn awful wail of disdain as he swerved to a lopsided stop. Whatever, Dean wouldn’t know any better. Not like this. Sam threw open the car door and climbed out, hands immediately going to rub through his hair like they’d been doing incessantly since the second he’d woken up to a nightmare he didn’t know could exist. He made to slam the door but caught himself in time, fingers catching the edge before it could rock the now silent car. “Shh, shh,” he whispered to the vehicle.

Bobby approached, expression skeptical.

“What? This thing grow wings? How the hell fast were you going, boy?”

“Nevermind!” Sam huffed wiping at his errant hair again. “We gotta fix this, Bobby. Seriously. Tell me you found something?”

“Well, your message wasn’t really makin’ sense, if you get my drift,” Bobby said. “You sure you ain’t been chewin' on some hinky mushrooms, Sam?”

Sam just rolled out the bitchface for that one. “ _No,_ I have not been eating _hinky mushrooms_. Jeez.”

Bobby eyed him. “So you’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Sam said, trying to stay calm.

The older man cocked a brow then eyed the car behind Sam warily. “They in there?” he rumbled carefully.

Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah.” He sidestepped, waving the other man past.

Bobby carefully approached the Impala, like he was sneaking up on a cougar.

He squinted in the morning sun reflecting off the glass, head lowering so he could peer into the backseat.

A moment passed. He stood up and Sam could only imagine what was running through that brain of his. “I’ll be damned,” Bobby said, hand scratching at his beard. He turned to Sam again. “You really weren’t kidding.”

“Why would I kid about something like - like _this?”_ Sammy waved his arms about. “Bobby, it’s been insane! I can’t do this! We gotta fix them–“

Sam’s words were cut off by a sharp tapping sound. Bobby raised his brows before turning.

He leaned down and came face-to-face with a small, freckled face with wide green eyes, tiny hands pressed against the car window. The small child in the backseat smiled wide and smacked the glass some more, gappy teeth galore.

Another face appeared alongside the freckled one. This one couldn’t look anything other than bewildered, his wide blue eyes blinking with disdain, flicking around, probably not comprehending much at all. Both looked like they’d woken from a nap sprawled inside the Impala.

“And no baby seat,” Bobby shook his head, still managing to see the funny side of this fiasco. “You’re lucky no cops pulled you over.”

“Hey, I’m lucky they slept through most of the damn drive! It’s been freakin’ hell on wheels all morning, Bobby. The yelling, the whining? The eating.”

“Damn,” Bobby sighed, “And Dean swore he’d never let any kids in his baby. Huh.” He looked amused at his own joke.

“You’re not funny. At. All.” Sam groused.

 

* * *

 

 

“All right, so Sheriff Mills said she’ll head over soon as can be,” Bobby said, coming into the living room where a clearly exhausted Sam sat on the floor with two toddlers clambering around him. “How old you think they are?” Bobby asked, watching the miniature humans play with some ball bearings and bullet casings Bobby had lying around.

Sam sighed, “Dunno. I’d say around two? Maybe three years old? I googled a bunch of stuff. Dean’s a talker, so I’m thinking he’s not too far off from three. They’re both stupidly excitable and understand a whole lot, but I’m not sure _what_ they remember.”

“So this trap was waitin’ for you boys at the hotel?” Bobby asked before settling into an armchair. He couldn’t stop staring. “What you think it was? Witch?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothin’ like witch stuff in or around the motel. No hex bags, no severed baby fingers, bird bones or other weird stuff. Honestly? No idea. I mean, why make them into kids? What’s the point?”

“Well, there’s gotta be a reason. Ain’t no evil without purpose. You know that.”

Bobby watched as the one kid with lighter hair got to his feet. This was Dean. Yeah, hell, it was. God damn, Bobby could only _just_ recall what the kid was like at this size. Or more accurately, if Sam’s numbers were right, a little after this size. “I just can’t believe it,” he said.

Dean turned to look at him from his position standing in front of his pile of casings. Then he turned to Sam and leaned in to pat his cheek with a tiny hand. “Hi Sammy,” he said with a wide grin.

“Hi Dean,” Sam sighed. 

“Oh,” Bobby remembered something. “Sheriff Mills said she might have some stuff for them.” He waved a hand over the two kids. “Lord knows your mothering skills need a little more work.”

“Hey,” Sam scowled over at him while Dean patted his cheeks over and over. “It’s all I had. What would you do if you woke up to find your brother and the local Angel of the Lord in a pile of clothing on your motel floor, huh? – Wait, don’t answer that. That’s even weirder somehow. Wait, _is it_? God, I don’t even know anymore.”

Bobby smirked. It really was damn funny. Both Cas and Dean were far too small to wear anything Sam would have on hand. So the Winchester had obviously gotten creative and swaddled them as best he could in what were clearly plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled _way up_ and the shirttails kind of tied between their legs like lumberjack onesies.

“It was scary, man,” Sam said as Castiel decided he wanted to poke Sam too, clambering over Sam’s knees to squeeze in beside Dean. “I don’t know anything about babies, Bobby.”

“Like I know any better?”

Sam shrugged. “Thank God for Jody, huh?”

“I’ll say,” Bobby rumbled.

 

* * *

 

 

Jody showed up sooner than expected and once Sam saw her expression, he could figure out why.

The minute Bobby ushered her into the house, her eyes went wide, and her mouth made a full ‘O’ of absolute joy.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” she breathed, clearly trying not to squeal or something. She was carrying a bunch of plastic bags which she unceremoniously shoved at Bobby, who stumbled back. She hadn’t even changed out of her uniform.

Jody didn’t spare a hello for Sam before she was crouching low to meet her new favourite hunters.

“Hiiiii,” She said softly, crouching down to Cas and Dean’s height. Castiel just kind of eyed her warily. Dean, however, seemed to recognize her and he came running. 

“Sheriff!” he wailed happily which was kind of cute. 

Jody enveloped the child in her arms and Sam swore he could _see_ the love hearts exploding from her eyes. “Oh, aren’t you _adorable_?”

Dean pulled back quickly. “ _Yeah_ , I’m Dean. Dean Winchesser.”

He kind of slurred the last name a bit, but it was clear he knew what he was about. Trust Dean to be cocky, even as a kid.

Jody looked over at Cas, who was standing a bit further back. Sam realized quite suddenly that the two had never met. Shit. What an introduction.

“And who are you, little man?” Jody almost cooed. 

Cas just stood there and stared at her. 

Jody’s smile faltered. She looked up at Sam.

“Oh, he hasn’t spoken a word,” Sam said, folding his arms. “But that’s Castiel. Right, buddy?”

Cas looked up at him, brows furrowed. Then, he nodded.

“Not a word? Really?” Jody said, perplexed. “Must be a shy one, huh?”

It was then that Jody took in the two boys’ outfits. She glared up at Sam this time. “This is what passes for children’s clothing where you’re from?”

Sam shrugged. Bobby held both hands up when her glare swivelled around onto him. 

“Are those bearings? And _bullets_?” Jody hissed, eyes going wide. She glared over at Bobby. 

“ _Casings_ ,” Bobby retorted. “Bullet _casings_.”

“They’re children. What is wrong with you?” Jody rolled her eyes. “Ugh.” She pushed herself back to her feet and quickly stretched her arms out. “All right boys, who wants presents?”

“Me!” Dean’s hand shot up, clearly not one to forget that free stuff was _awesome_.

Jody took two tiny hands in hers and led them back into the depths of Bobby’s house. Bobby rolled his eyes when she called him to bring her bags of crap.

When the three of them finally reappeared, Sam was happy to see that yes, she’d managed to find clothing small enough. He didn’t ask where it all came from. 

“Well, in case anyone was ever interested,” Jody sighed as Dean whizzed by, Cas in pursuit, towards the kitchen where Bobby was making sandwiches. “Dean’s not a fan of underoos.”

Sam made a face. “But he’s wearing some, right?”

“Of course,” Jody clucked. “And no, I didn’t dress them. Dean was absolutely determined to have absolute privacy. Not that I didn’t have to help wrangle them into socks and shoes, though. That Castiel clocked me a good one.” She rubbed at her jaw and Sam held back a smile.

The two of them wandered into the kitchen. Dean was babbling away to Bobby as he stood on a kitchen chair, hands waving. Bobby was making PB&J sandwiches which sounded about as good as a full turkey dinner at this point.

Cas was trying his hardest to climb up onto another chair, his little legs wiggling, face set.

“Up we go,” Sam said, easily hoisting the miniature angel up onto the seat.

Cas scowled at him and Sam shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

“–and I wanna shoot them, right in the face,” Dean was saying excitedly, making Jody pause. Dean’s fingers shaped themselves like guns. “Pew! Pew!”

“Dean,” Jody hushed, “Sweetheart, no talking like that.”

Dean paused and looked at her. “No,” he said plainly.

“Yeah, by the way, he doesn’t like being talked to like a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Dean said loudly, small hands sitting on his hips. “I’mma hunter. I kill, uh, baddies.”

“Yeah Jody,” Sam raised both brows. “Baddies.”

“Do any of you ever shut up?” Bobby growled. He pushed a large plate of sandwiches onto the table. Dean pretty much lunged for one. Cas, across from him, just stared.

“Okay, sit down, boys,” Jody said, “I said _sit_.”

Dean plopped down, mouth already stuffed with sandwichy goodness, peanut butter smearing its way across his left cheek.

“Castiel?” she said gently to the other boy. 

Cas just stared at her.

“Aw, buddy,” Sam laughed, finally looking Cas’ outfit over. “Your shirt’s on inside out.”

Cas looked down at his white t-shirt. Sam was sure there was some kind of image on the other side but Cas seemed unconcerned. He just pressed a hand to his chest. Dean, on the other hand, was wearing a red t-shirt and what could only be called miniature jeans; the kind with the stretchy waistband. Awesome. When this was all fixed and sorted, Sam was gonna have a field day.

Cas carefully sat down. He ignored Jody when she offered him a sandwich.

“He doesn’t eat,” Sam said, grabbing his own.

Jody sat down next to him, staring at Cas. “So, this is the angel, huh?” She seemed half awed and half confused. “Doesn’t eat, doesn’t talk. Does he do anything?”

“Yeah,” Sam said around a mouthful. “Sucks you had to meet him like this. He’s usually all glowy and strong as hell.”

“Okay, so, he doesn’t eat,” she said. “But you said he slept in the car?”

“Kind of,” Sam answered. “Honestly, I think he just kind of zoned out. He does that sometimes.”

“As a kid.”

“No, sometimes as a, uh, adult, I guess.”

Jody went silent and watched the angel. Cas focused on Dean as he plowed through three sandwiches. When Bobby set down glasses of what could only possibly be apple juice, Dean all but drowned himself trying to gulp it down.

“Well, he’s definitely got Dean’s appetite,” he said.

“That’s ‘cos he _is_ Dean,” Sam said, exasperated. “Look, you guys have got to see them as _Cas_ and _Dean_. They’re not fakes, shifters, or androids or whatever. They know what’s happened. They’re just small, y’know?”

“You sure, though?” Bobby said, leaning a hand on Dean’s chair back. 

“Yes,” Sam answered. “When I woke up, they both kind of freaked. I mean, I did too. Who the hell wakes up to kids in their motel room? I was like, who shoves children through motel windows? Man, I spazzed. But yeah, pretty quickly I figured it was Dean and Cas.”

“Cos I told you,” Dean piped up. “You dumb, Sammy.”

“See?” Sam waved a hand, giving Bobby a _look_.

“So, how much do they, um, how much of them is them?” Jody asked.

“Well, aside from the obvious speech issues and like serious add, they both kind of know who they are.”

Bobby looked over at Cas, who seemed fixated on Dean eating.

“Hey, Cas,” he said. The dark-haired boy looked up. “You still got your mojo? You still all angelic?”

Jody looked at Sam.

Cas just blinked, brows a straight line.

“Yes? No? Maybe?” Bobby queried, head bobbing about.

“Does it matter?” Jody asked.

“Well, he used to be able to smite demons with his bare hands. And bust through doors and throw monsters around. Kind of matters.” Sam answered.

Jody seemed a little lost for a moment. Seeing Dean like this, it must be beyond jarring, especially considering … well. 

“Sam,” she said softly, eyes not wavering from the kids. “What if this is it? What if there is no cure?” She glanced up, eyes soulful.

“Not an option,” Sam said firmly. “They’re cursed, or something, and I’m gonna find out what did it and gank it.”

“Gank it!” Dean crowed loudly.

“Yeah, but what if … what if it’s permanent?” Jody pushed on. “What are you going to do?”

Sam swallowed. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“You have to,” Jody leaned in. “I mean, who knows what’s happening inside them? Are they gonna stay like this permanently? Will they grow up? Is this like starting over from scratch?”

“No,” Sam set his lips firmly. “No. I won’t let that happen. I can’t.”

“But-“

“No, Jody, listen. This is Dean and Cas. I can’t let them stay like this. What’re they gonna do? Daycare demon-hunting? This is insane enough without me becoming a damn _dad_. I’m not supposed to be a father to my brother, or any other weird crap, okay?”

“You don’t have to be their father, I’m just saying … contingencies.”

“Ew, Sammy is my Dad?” Dean made a face.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s gross to me too.”

“I’m too young to be a grandfather,” Bobby added with a grunt.

“Hah!” Dean laughed loudly, turning to grin at Bobby. “Grampa Bobby!”

“You really were a brat all this time, huh? And here’s me thinking you picked it up from the scum you usually hang out with,” Bobby said, messing up Dean’s hair with his hand.

Sam considered the topic closed, even if Jody continued to stare wistfully at the boys. 

 

* * *

 

“So get this,” Sam said as he bent down to get into the driver’s seat. He twisted around to look at Jody as she squeezed into the backseat, a boy on each side of her. “I did some research on curses relating specifically to children. Now, most of them are focused on _actual_ children and not making adults young again. So I thought maybe this was a sort of fountain of youth scenario, right?”

Jody nodded, arm going around Dean as he squirmed beside her.

“That type of magic is way old. But it usually works gradually. You know, like the target slowly gets younger, not all at once. The most extreme versions of those stories talk about them going Benjamin Button and like, disappearing into nothingness after suffering as a fetus and other crazy stuff.”

“Sam,” Jody said sharply. Her hands came up to cup an ear on each of the boys in the backseat. Cas pushed at her fingers, unimpressed.

“What? Fetus? Really?” Sam cocked both brows at that one.

Jody frowned. “I dunno. Okay, go on.”

“So Bobby’s gonna look through his library for any kind of poisoned youth spells, or something like it.”

“And while he’s doing that, we’re gonna go to the Playdate Party,” Jody said with a smile.

“What?” Sam made a face, “I thought we were gonna drive about, keep these two busy?”

“Well yeah, but there’s this neat local event that comes round every year. It’s for the local parents to get together, have the kids play all day and sack out exhausted at the end. It’s freakin’ great. I used to go all the time.”

She lowered her eyes to look down at Dean. Sam didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Fine,” he murmured instead and turned to start the car. “It’ll get them outta Bobby’s hair at least.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh hell,” Sam breathed when he entered the auditorium. 

This was going to be either the worst thing in history or the best idea ever. The massive room was set up like a mini carnival just for kids aged two to ten. The place was covered in banners and cartoony posters and streamers _everywhere._ Gym mats were laid out across the smooth concrete and groups of kids ran around like crazy. The whole shebang gave Sam the nerves. The areas had been sectioned off, with space for moms and dads to talk about whatever it was they needed to talk about. 

“Hi there!” a cheery voice interrupted his daze. “who have we got here?” A cheery smiley blonde chick, probably no older than twenty-one bent over to balance her hands on her knees.

She wore the white polo shirt and blue shorts uniform of some volunteer group.

And judging by the way Dean stared up at her, her face was pretty enough.

“Uh, hey,” Sam said awkwardly.

“Melissa!” Jody stepped forward. 

“Oh, Sheriff Mills!” this Melissa cried out with way too much glee. “So nice to see you here!”

“Yep, just bringin’ the boys over for some fun,” Jody smiled, clearly used to the whole mom world of interacting around those-who-look-over-our-children.

Jody rested a hand each on Cas and Dean’s heads. “This one’s Dean. Keep an eye on him, he’s a runner. And this is Cas.”

“Hi Cas, Hi Dean,” Melissa said, crouching down with a smile so bright, Sam was pretty sure his retinas were peeling off. Dean grinned wide. “Hi,” he said.

Cas, as usual, said jack squat.

“How old-“

“Er, three-ish. Sort of. Yeah,” Sam blurted. 

Melissa looked up. “Ah, okay.”

Great, now she thought Sam was a freakin’ weirdo. What parent didn’t know how old their kids were? God, these weren’t even his kids! They were miniature versions of a millennia old celestial being and a psychologically unhinged demon-hunter.

“You’ll be with our munchkin group then,” Melissa said cheerily. “Want to follow me?”

“Oh my God,” Sam’s stomach kind of wobbled. Dean was so not ready for this. He bent down quickly to whisper in Dean’s ear. “Don’t be an ass, you got me? Play nice.”

Sam felt sick letting his brother and friend go, but Jody stayed his arm. “It’s okay. They’re not going far. Look, that little plastic-gated area? Munchkin Town.” She was clearly trying to keep a straight face.

If this Melissa chick heard him talking to Dean, she didn’t indicate so. She just led the way, smile bright and wide as the ever-glowing sun.

Dean looked back once, scowl in place, but Cas seemed unbothered by the hustle and bustle of this noisy place.

“It’ll be a couple hours max,” Jody said quietly, standing beside him. “Then Bobby’ll call us back and we’ll get to work on this thing, okay? We’ll whoop its ass.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam was trying to not lose sight of the two kids. Melissa opened up the fat purple plastic gate that was about a foot high and stupidly lame. Dean and Cas walked into the play area for the two to three year-olds. A couple kids came up to them, chattering wildly. The floor was checkered in squashy foam letter puzzle pieces, something Sam didn’t even know existed. The whole place was pink and purple and baby-proofed. It was terrifying.

“Jody,” Sam breathed queasily, “I can’t do this. I can’t leave Dean as a child. Oh, God, it’s like a nightmare.”

“Yep,” Jody said, “That’s kids. That’s parenting.”

Both scooted to the side to make room for a mother and her passel of children.

“Except he’s my brother and his friend and they’ve probably got the minds of thirty-something year old men and know that they have to go through everything again, or that they’re stuck like this and then what? You ever watch Interview with a Vampire? That stuff is insane. They’ll go crazy. Or Dean will. He’ll set himself on fire. I’m not too sure about Cas.”

The two of them just kind of flitted about for a while, trying to not look like helicopter-moms. After forty minutes of Sam just trying to not explode with anxiety, checking his phone continually, Jody sent him to fetch coffees.

The coffee station wasn’t much to brag about. Just a local shop run by sweet little old ladies. Sam smiled when Gertie (nametags, go figure) handed him two steaming cups of the blackest joe he’d ever laid eyes on.

Sam turned, taking a sip as he walked back to Jody.

_Damn._ Holy moly, strong coffee. Could probably melt holes through drywall. Sam sucked his teeth and breathed out. He had to stall when a trio of young boys pushed past with balloon animals. There were a lot of kids, sure, but even more parents if he was honest. Maybe that’s all parenting was? Escorting kids from place to place hoping to wear them out and get to sleep, only to start over the next day. Then there was the cleaning, the feeding, the entertaining, the yelling, the diapers. Ugh. Diapers. Thank God Dean and Cas hadn’t needed those. Dean had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he could go ‘poopy’ on his own _thank you very much_. And Sam was pretty sure Cas didn’t poop at all, which was great.

Sam gazed about, weaving his way back to Jody, who was standing with folded arms, a smile cresting her features. She looked like one of the love-struck moms Sam saw sometimes. Clearly mini Dean and Cas got her maternal heart pumping again, not that it ever stopped. It probably sucked in some ways to see them like this.

Sam felt oversized and out of place. Some oddball was also watching the kids, on the other side of the play area. Sam squinted. Comrade-in-arms, perhaps?

The tall, dark figure didn’t move. Was Sam’s vision going? He blinked. This was clearly some dad that got shunted with bag-duty or something. The guy kind of fizzled out of a view for a second. Sam blinked. Something smelled like burning plastic. Sam started, throat caught. He halted. That was no ordinary freakin’ dad. It was a fucking _clown_. Jesus Christ, who let clowns near kids? And, and looking like _that?_ Sam held out against his naturally bred, _perfectly rational_ instinct to flee and burn the building to the ground. This clown was clearly not getting much bang for his buck.. He was a tall guy and his costume was bedraggled, filthy. What looked like tar was stuck in his faded, frizzy hair and a coating of dark (coal?) dust marred the aged, creased makeup smeared across a bony, and ancient-looking face. Sam shuddered. God, and people said he was weak for hating clowns.

The clown looked up. Black, burnt craters stared back. It had no eyes.

Sam jumped, splashing scalding coffee over himself.

“Jody!” he yelled, making a run for her.

A bunch of kids wailed at his outburst and people turned to watch the giant man pushing through the crowd.

Shit. “Get out of _the way_ ,” he hissed at a dozy father with a hotdog poised near his mouth. _Damnit._ He looked up again. The thing was gone. Nothing, no-one stood there anymore. The sound of games and laughter rang in Sam’s ears as he frantically searched the room.

“Sam, what?” Jody said, making him turn.

“I saw it! It was-it was here!”

“What was?” Jody asked, suddenly on high alert. Her hand immediately went to her hip where her gun sat.

“A fucking clown! God, I _hate_ clowns.” He shivered deeply and shook his head. “Ugh, gross.”

“Uh, clowns are par for the course round these parts, Sam.” Jody raised a brow at him.

“Not this kind,” Sam said, eyes flicking around hastily. “Come on, we gotta tell Bobby. Get  the–the kids. Get Dean, damnit!”

“Ok, calm down for a second. I’ll call Bobby, okay? How about you go round up the kidlets? Oh, and Sam?” She pulled at his elbow before he could move. “Try not to terrify all the children?”

Sam nodded. Right. Calm. No need to cause a panic.

He hustled over to the Munchkin Town area. Fuck, would it be weird to just step over the fence-thing? Dean wasn’t even close enough to grab. He was standing with some girls, babbling away an oversized plastic block in one hand. Sam shifted, wishing the parents around him would just _move._ “Excuse me,” he breathed, smiling icily at a pair of moms. “Gotta get, get my kids.”

He felt the women’s eyes on him.

When he rounded the edge of the make-believe town, he made to open the little plastic gate. God, it was like a little people carnival and he was the jolly green giant. He quirked a brow at the Melissa chick from before, pointing to Dean. She just smiled and nodded. Last thing Sam needed was his photo plastered around town for abducting children.

Sam hurried over to find Cas standing closest, distracted by something glittery in a small girl’s hand; some kind of pom-pom tassel-thing. Cas’ eyes were wide as the girl chattered away, showing off her fancy little toy.

“Hey you,” Dean said, suddenly appearing beside the little angel. Oh thank God they were together so Sam could snatch them at once. “Stop taking him away. We’re playing over _here_.” Dean glared at the little girl with the glittery thing. She just blinked back, one hand jammed in her mouth. The older (younger? smaller?) Winchester grabbed at Castiel’s hand and held it tight as he blabbed loudly to the passel of girls still following him. “He’s _my_ best friend. Mine. Right, Cas?”

Cas turned and just blinked. If Sam wasn’t busy trying to smuggle two kids out of a playpen in broad daylight, he’d take the time to enjoy just exactly how adorable this was.

Because it was _really_ adorable, and somehow, enlightening. Sam hesitated, a little thrown by this small display of affection between Dean and ‘his best friend’. Their little hands were snug, holding on tight and Sam wondered…

“Hey, boys,” he said, clearing his throat instead, “Come on. We gotta go.”

“What?” Dean looked up at him with annoyance. “But we’re still playing! They have pie!” Dean pointed over at the plastic kitchen plates with the fake pans and felt-replica fried eggs.

“Dean, it’s not real pie,” Sam cursed whoever had invented those tiny, rounded plastic pies that fit adorably into a matching plastic pie tins fit for tiny hands. Oh, God, and a tiny little oven. What was this hell?

“Uh, it’s imagination, Sammy,” Dean said making a dopey face filled with child-like sarcasm.

“I really don’t have time for this,” Sam gritted out. He crouched down low. “We found the bad mojo.”

Dean’s eyes went wide and he spun about, right hand still clasping Cas’ left. “Where? Gimme a knife, Sammy. I’ll stab it. Right in the face!”

“No, no knives,” Sam fake-laughed, waving at Melissa. “ _Stop it,”_ he hissed to Dean. “Seriously. I gotta get you outta here. It’s obviously been following us. Come on.” He didn’t even pause to think, he just scooped both boys up, one on each arm and stood.

A couple kids yelled and wailed good-byes. “BYE!” Dean hollered from his vantage point as Sam lumbered away. Cas waved quietly down at the kids.

“Come on, come _on,”_ Sam breathed, panic spiking. Fuck, why’d it have to always be clowns? Gross, sketchy, dirty fucked up clowns? He could just imagine it staring at him as he tried desperately not to fuckin’ book it outta there. It was watching, leering, its real face smeared with disgusting paste and make-up and _ugh._

He may have been shoving a little too hard, judging by the faces around him, but what did these people know? A monster was going to get his tiny friggin’ miniature brother and like, shank him in his little elasto-band jeans, or something. Dean couldn’t freakin’ defend himself! And Cas, he’d probably just stand there, waiting to get stabbed or disemboweled, like the clueless dork he was.

“Over here!” Jody’s voice came to him once he burst out of that rainbow-coloured hellhole and into the sunlight.

“Bobby says he’s heard of this type of thing!” The panic in her voice kind of surprised Sam enough to set him off kilter. Jody wasn’t easily scared. She grabbed at Cas and hurried away in the direction of the car.

“Jody!” Sam cried out. “Wait!”

“Come on Sam, we can’t let this thing get them! Bobby says it’s like a demonic spirit from way back. We _do not_ have any way to kill it. We have to get these two out of here.”

“So it’s definitely after Dean and Cas?”

Sam dropped Dean in through the backseat window, leaving him to roll into Cas who’d just been shoved in as Jody clambered into the backseat. “Yes!” She cried out. “They curse people. Make ‘em into kids because that’s the only form they can eat.”

“ _Eat?_ ” Even to Sam, that sounded fucking awful. “It wants to _eat_ them?”

“Yes!” Jody kicked the back of the driver’s seat. “Bobby doesn’t have much on it. No spells, no weapons, nothing! We have to go!”

“Hold on-” Sam started but was silenced when he was slammed across the bench seat, the whole car shunting sideways. The Impala groaned, metal creaking.

“Oh my God,” Jody said. “It’s here!”

Typical. Broad daylight in a packed parking lot, and this fucking gross-ass burnt clown-monster decides now’s the time to attack. _Great._

“Get the kids!” Sam yelled as the car slammed aside, smashing into the shiny blue Ford Focus next to them. 

Oh _God_.

There, staring in through his driver’s window was that face. Burnt, filthy hands pressed to the glass and black smoking sockets stared at Sam.

He felt bile rise in his throat as he scrambled away.

“We can’t get out,” Jody barked, slamming her hands against the opposite passenger door. They were crunched up against the other car with no escape.

“Damnit!” Sam scuttled as far from the monster as possible, which wasn’t easy, considering his size. Smoky hands were pressing through the glass, ghost-like fingers bending, reaching. When the freak’s face blurred and also came through, Sam heard Jody give a shriek.

“Gank, it Sammy!” Dean yelled from the backseat. “Stab it!”

Fuck. Sam ripped his knife from his belt and swiped at the freak. Nothing happened. It just moved closer, slowly, like mist over an evening lake, taking its damn time.

“No, stay still!” Jody wailed.

“Let me at it!” Dean was yelling to the sounds of thrashing little limbs. 

“No, Dean, stay back there,” Sam yelled. This was a freakin’ nightmare! He shuddered as the eyeless, gaping grey face pressed up close to his, limbs clambering over Sam’s legs, reaching, seeking. It had a wet, torn hole for a mouth. Sam swallowed his sickness down. Its mouth was peeling open, black gunk oozing down, like saliva.

“Jody, get out the other side!” He coughed. 

“Go go go!” Jody almost shrieked, making Sam think it wasn’t just him that felt the electrical sense of fear emanating from this monster. 

He heard the door unlatch but it was too late. The freakish thing twisted.

Sam slashed at it, spitting latin he’d used before on other hunts. Fuck, it wasn’t a demon, it wasn’t even a ghost. There wasn’t any way to stop it!

“Castiel!” Jody yelled. “Come with me! Listen, stop!”

Sam twisted, kicking at the grey mist. His foot squelched through its mass, but nothing seemed to stop it. He scrambled up, feeling its sickly body slide over him. He could just make out the hazy image of Jody half out of the car, Dean grasped in her left arm. But Cas was pulling away, back towards Sam.

“Cas!” Dean’s little voice yelped. “Cas! Come here! No! Cas! It’s too big!”

And it was. The thing was filling the car, sucking slurps at the air, its quarry in sight. White, crusty fingers pressed into the front seat headrest, dirty, bruised fingernails scratched at Castiel, who was scrambling to his feet.

“No,” was all Sam heard, in a soft, dry little voice, before light exploded around him and the car rocked violently, unable to hold every ounce of whatever was happening. The monster’s shrieks were piercing, its fingers clawing. The smell of burning filled the car. Burning flesh, burning bone; all of it was enough to make anyone sick. Sam’s eyes stung and he was glad he’d snapped them shut in time. The sucking, burning, unholy screeching continued, making Sam feel like he was stuck in a howling wind tunnel.

Then as if someone had flicked a switch, it was all quiet and sunny.

Sam was sprawled across the bench seat, legs bent, arms akimbo, still grasping at leather.

He sat up. The sun still shone and he could feel the breeze from the open backseat door.

He twisted around, trying to see what had happened.

“See?” Dean was climbing back into the car to grab at tiny Castiel’s hand. “Cas is badass!”

Jody, for what it’s worth, didn’t say a thing. She just gaped from her position on the ground, kneeling just outside the car where she had presumably fallen.

And Cas? Well, he just stood there, staring at Dean’s hand in his.

 

* * *

 

“Holy hell on a hot wheel,” Bobby breathed after Sam recounted their story. He rubbed at his face. “You know there was no answer to how to gank that thing, right?”

“Yeah, Jody said,” Sam breathed. He still felt shaken, hours later at Bobby’s house.

“I’m serious,” Bobby intoned gravely. “I only ever _heard_ of those things, ain’t never seen it written down. Got no name, no origin to speak of. Hell, I didn’t even believe they’d ever been real!”

“Well, lucky for us, it was,” Sam sighed. He felt like his shower hadn’t scraped the feeling of that _thing_ off his skin.

Bobby handed him a beer and the two men ambled back into the living room.

The aged TV was on, flashing brightly.

Dean and Cas were sitting, watching it avidly, a blanket thrown over their laps and a giant bowl of popcorn between them.

“Peter Pan, huh?” Sam said.

Jody looked up from her seat beside Dean. Her eyes were haunted.

Earlier, she’d said, “We can’t leave them like this. I can’t handle it.”

And Sam knew what she meant. The fear that had gripped him when he thought of something eating Dean up? Never happening again. Jody probably was gonna be scarred forever. It was always going to be a problem, having kids around this lifestyle. It wasn’t right.

And because Cas and Dean hadn’t changed back? Well, that made the whole monster-deal seem completely worthless after the fact. 

“Guess Cas is still all angel, huh?” Bobby said from beside Sam.

Sam looked down at the dark head beside Dean’s. “Guess so,” he murmured. He never really thought about it much, because he didn’t ever have to, but for once Sam could easily say with all his heart, “Thank God for Cas.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam woke with a start when Dean yelped.

He jolted up from the kitchen table, where he’d fallen asleep, buried in a tome.

Last he’d seen of the two little hunters, they’d been wrapped up on either end of Bobby’s sofa, like little horizontal soldiers.

Now, though, was a different image.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean bellowed, from his end of the sofa, grabbing at the blanket.

“Dean!” Sam said loudly, grin splitting across his face. “You’re back!”

Dean scowled over at him. “Yeah, and what do I wake up to? A fuckin’ cramped-ass angel taking up all the space over here.” He kicked at Cas, who unceremoniously rolled right off the sofa, legs tangled in the blanket. The angel had not been prepared for such a wake-up. Dean barely managed to hold on to whatever portion of fabric was covering his bits. Because, of course, both fully grown men were naked as jaybirds.

“Uh,” Sam sucked his teeth, “Guess the curse’s worn off?”

And with quite a bang, it seemed. Pieces of cotton and denim littered the sofa and floor around them, as if they’d pretty much exploded out of their kid clothing. That must have been fun.

“What happened?” Jody skidded into view, her short hair in complete disarray, her uniform rumpled.

“Jody?” Dean squawked. “Get out of here, man!” He tugged ineffectively at the stretched-to-the-limit blanket. “Cas! get off the floor, damnit!”

“I’m attempting to do so, Dean,” Cas grumbled from his inelegant sprawl.

“And put some damn clothes on! Ya giant perv!” Dean barked, scrunching his eyes when Cas managed to get to his feet.

Sam couldn’t help it. Oh, how he laughed and laughed and _laughed._ This was perfect. If he could ever have one of those staged family Christmas cards, he’d want it to be this scene exactly.

Castiel stood up and scowled at Dean who still refused to open his eyes.

He then turned, nodding to Sam. Sam just came round and socked him in the shoulder. “Good to see you back, man.”

“Indeed,” Cas rumbled. The angel looked up, finally noticing Jody, who just stared, mouth open as six feet of very naked angel came towards her.

“Sheriff Mills,” Cas inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jody breathed back. “Likewise, uh, Cas.”

Cas then looked down at himself. “I will return,” he murmured before winking out of existence.

Sam chuckled at her face. “Yeah, he does that.”

“You know, he’s kinda useless most of the time,” Dean grumbled, standing up with the blanket wrapped around him. “If you’ll excuse me, I gotta go bleach my damn eyes,” he drawled acidly.

“You know,” Sam said, turning as Dean stomped past, “he saved our asses back there.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean barked as he turned down the hallway. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Now, tomorrow, or ever again, you hear me?”

Such sweet words. Sam looked over the living room. God, it was done. He bent over and dug up pieces of stretchy denim and t-shirt remnants. Something bright was jammed down the side of the seat cushion. He pulled and found himself holding a perfectly moulded, plastic slice of fake cherry pie. It even had rounded bumps on the side to give the idea of round cherries. Of course.

“Here, catch,” Sam said, throwing the toy at Jody. She caught it with shaky hands. “Don’t know if you’re aware, but my brother is a damn thief.”

Jody just stared at the pie slice. It seemed ridiculous.

“Well, it’s all over,” Sam said, hands open with a shrug. “Guess the curse just had to wear off. Thanks for all your help.”

“Uh, yeah,” she breathed. “I’m going to miss that, though. Having little ones underfoot, you know?”

Sam snorted, “Oh I wouldn’t worry. You seem to forget how childish Dean is anyway. He’s a spoilt toddler most of the time. An oversized munchkin.” Oh yes, that new nickname would do well.

Jody’s lips quirked, “Not for nothing, but they were pretty cute for the short time we had them.”

Sam smiled beatifically and placed a hand on each of Jody’s shoulders.

“No they weren’t,” he said serenely. “They were terrible.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“Dude, you make one fugly woman.”_

—

“Man, this is good whiskey,” Dean sighed, swigging his freshly served booze. He liked a little down time. Hunting never really left space for them to settle for a second; a moment to catch their breath. Sometimes Dean needed to drink and he needed some room to stretch. And this bar was nothing short of phenomenal; a real gem in the wilderness. Man, the pool tables were clean and had no tears, the floors were smooth grey wood with no stains; The booths were like a rich brown leather, and the tables weren’t rickety or red-stained veneer like in tacky wannabe bars. This place was _awesome_. Kind of old and rugged, but neat and clean too. Sure, there’d been motorcycles outside, but going by the patrons, the only ones who could’ve been the owners of said bikes would have to be the trio of freakin’ amazons over by the pool tables. This place? This place was _the shit_. Good booze, a little Zep and the _women._ So many women. Women for _days_ ; beautiful, stunning women all over the joint. Must be three to every guy. A real miracle bar and _boy_ was Dean impressed with the whiskey.

When Sammy got back from the john, Dean’d have to convince the guy to do a round of shots to loosen up. Guy was just too wound these days.

Dean glanced around the room. Maybe he could get away with buying that table over there drinks? Dean winked at a redhead. She eyed him and smiled.

Oh, yes. This place was just what he needed.

Dean was about to slide off his stool and make his way over to that table crowded with lovely ladies, when he was cut off by a chick who slumped into the seat beside him. 

“Guess what?” the chick said, turning to eye Dean. She didn’t look too impressed, nor did she seem fazed by Dean’s surprised look.

“Uh?” Dean answered, confused. Was she picking him up? Dean looked her over. Not that he minded, but chicks rarely made the first move.

“Some freaking guy just _propositioned_ me in the damn restroom,” she snapped angrily, waving the bartender over. “Like, for real! Said a bunch of gross shit about bending me over a basin or something. Ugh. Can you believe that?

“Heineken,” she snapped wearily at the bartender. Dean watched as this tall, kinda rumpled-looking chick looked back at Dean as if expecting an answer, like he _understood_. Now Dean wasn’t one to deny he’d had one proposition or another thrown his way in the men’s bathroom, but that wasn’t something he commiserated with strange women about.

“Oh, uh,” Dean slid back into his stool, eyes roving over her. Damn. She kinda dressed like a lumberjack, but whatever, this chick was … “I take it that’s a bad thing?” He smirked.

She gave him something akin to an annoyed look, “Are you serious?” she answered. “Why in hell’s name would that be a good thing?”

Dean grinned, “Well, it’s either in there or out here. Your odds ain’t much better.”

The chick stared at him, her bright hazel eyes kind of shining in the bar’s dim lighting. “Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Dean started, leaning back. “What?”

The bartender showed up, sliding a beer towards this strange, weirdly attractive woman with wavy brown hair curving around her ears. When the burly bartender winked, she scowled at his back.

“I said,” she turned to look Dean in the eye, “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting weird. Weirder than normal, anyway.” She took a long pull on her beer as Dean watched.

“Uh, sorry darlin’, have we met?” Dean said, brow crooked. He tried to play it cool as he frantically searched through his mental-rolodex at warp speed. Stupid chicks with their stupid faces and names and stupid memories! God, how the hell was he supposed to remember this one? Who was she? If she remembered his name, then crap-on-a-platter, he must have made the moves on her, she was a hunter, or _something._ WHY did this have to happen? Had it been for a case? Or a random sexy session? Fuck. He was gonna have to work on names. Dean scanned her features, trying desperately to figure out where he’d seen her before. She did kind of seem familiar, but nothing flashed in his memory. Her baggy, bland clothing didn’t give any indication about her body, so hell if he could remember if he’d seen her naked. Her face was … something? Like he knew her in a past life? Really well?

This chick, this woman stared at him. Then she scowled. “You’re real funny, asshole.” she said.

“Asshole?” Dean repeated like a parrot. “Hey lady, if it’s that time of the month, maybe you shouldn’t be outdoors mixing with the rest of us.” Dean glared at her.

“Man, that’s such a sexist thing to say. Even to me. You know better,” She snapped back. 

God, who the hell did she think she was? Here Dean was, trying to have a nice easy evening, maybe even try for a neat and tidy hook-up with that saucy redhead in the leather skirt, and this random busybody bitch comes over to ruin his life. Not cool.

“I’ve told you a million times, stop making jokes like that, dude,” she dared sigh, swigging at her beer again. Her left hand came up to brush her brown hair behind her ear, like whatever crap she’d just spewed at Dean was totally normal.

“I don’t even know you,” Dean hissed, slipping off the stool. “So if you’ll excuse me, _ma’am_.” If he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, he’d have tipped it sarcastically.

And damn if he didn’t feel self-righteous about his smooth exit.

“ _Hey,_ ” Dean barked when he felt a hand pull him back suddenly. Scowling, he turned. The damn chick was actually holding onto his shirt, her face cut up with annoyance. Dean snapped his shirtsleeve back.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“What’s wrong with _me?_ ” Dean bent forward. “Lady, I don’t owe you nothin’.”

“Stop calling me that!” she said sharply, coming to stand beside her stool. Shit, she was tall. Wow.

“What? Calling you _what_?” Dean spat.

“Dean!” she leaned forward and grabbed Dean’s shoulders. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she looked his face over, like she was checking if he’d had his head smashed in. “How much have you had to drink? I was gone, like ten minutes, max.”

“Okay,” Dean said, prying her hands away. “clearly you are not in your right mind,” he took a step back. “I do not know you. If I _did_ know you at one point or another, I apologize for whatever I did, but lady, you gotta back off.”

She frowned at him like _he_ was the crazy one.

“Stop calling me that, _”_ she persisted. 

“Ok, whatever,” Dean pushed her hands away from him. “Jeez.”

The crazy chick seemed to pause, eyes unfocused. Now what? She was staring at her hands, where they sort of hung in the air, no longer full of Dean’s jacket. She flipped one hand around, looking over the long fingers, the smooth skin. Oh crap, was she tripping? Dean wasn’t any good with drugs, users or otherwise.

“Dean,” she breathed, voice kind of wispy. “Dean,” she repeated, eyes widening as she pulled at her shirtsleeves. Her wrists were slim and smooth, so God only knows what freakiness she was seeing instead. Dean didn’t wanna know. She ran her hands over her torso, her hips, belly and chest. Not much of a show, if Dean was honest. He’d seen better.

“I’m just … gonna go,” Dean said, stepping back, away, cautiously.

“ _Dean,_ ” The crazed chick hissed, finally looking up at him. “Am I a freakin’ _woman?_ ”

“You’re a freakin’ something,” Dean mumbled, trying to get away, but damnit, the chick was like a leech.

“No, Dean, stop!” She grabbed his jacket with both hands, eyes wide, freaked out. “It’s me, Sam! _Sam!_ ”

Dean jerked back. “What the hell? How do you know Sam?”

Crap, where was Sam anyhow? He’d been gone for, like, twenty minutes. Maybe his butt exploded? No piss could take that long.

“Shit,” Dean pushed past the whack-job, finally realizing he was missing one giant sasquatch nerd with ridiculous hair that may or may not have been shanked in the restroom.

“Dean, stop!” and there was that hand again, clamping onto Dean’s elbow.

“The hell!” Dean barked, turning on her. “Back off! Stop touching me!”

“Dean, listen! It’s me! Sam! I’m’-I, I don’t know what happened!” her hands shot into her hair, to her face. Her eyes were wide, scared even, as her fingers tracked over her cheeks, her chin, her finely pointed nose. She ran her fingers over a freckle on her left cheek, right beside her nose. Kind of like the one–

_Oh no._

_Oh no-no-no-no._ This was _not_ happening. No way.

Dean’s breath was stalled as he took the woman in. She _was_ tall. _Freakishly tall_. And her clothes? Beige jacket over a plaid shirt and really loose jeans and fucking big boots. Men’s boots. Sam’s damn boots.

“Aw _hell_!” Dean bit out, spinning, fists pressed to his eyes. “Urgh!”

“Dean, am I a chick? Is this real?” Her voice was panicked and no, it wasn’t anything like Sam’s but it had that _tone._ The one the younger Winchester always used when he was trying to not freak the fuck out. “Dean!”

“Shut up!” Dean hissed before dragging her away, back to the farthest end of the bar. There, he knew was one of those mirrored walls where the spirits were poured. The mirrors with the frosted names of expensive booze. Dean yanked this _Sam_ into the light of the bar and turned her around. 

She stared across at the far wall, blinking at her reflection.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, hands pawing at her face. “Oh my God.”

“What’s the worst place on earth?” Dean snapped. 

“Uhh, uh, that truck-stop toilet in Nebraska where we found a waitress’ head in the toilet bowl and you’d been trying not to barf up your sketchy five-dollar foot-long we got at a roadside shack.”

Shit. It was Sam.

“How the hell did this happen?” Dean hissed, sitting on the nearest stool. The bartender was watching them, probably wondering why Dean was dragging this chick around while she massaged her face like a freak.

“I don’t _know,_ ” she almost whimpered. She turned to stare at Dean and yep, this was Sammy. With puppy eyes like that, how could Dean ever mistake his doofus brother for anyone else?

“How can you not know?” Dean huffed, hands coming to rest on his face, eyes closed. “Are there, like, no mirrors in the restrooms?”

“I was washing my hands when that guy came onto me, so I was a bit distracted,” Sam uttered. “I used the urinal, and everything was fine! But, there was this weird vibe, I dunno. Pretty fast magic, if you ask me. This creepy guy just startedlike, leering on me, so I got annoyed. Fuck, it makes sense now. I thought he was just a general perv. But if I was some chick in the men’s restroom, man, was _I_ the perv?”

Dean just groaned loudly into his hands. “Ugh, I basically tried to hit on my own brother. Gross. You’re not even the hottest one in the room. _Gross_.”

He heard Sam slump onto a stool.

“We gotta fix this, pronto,” Dean whined.“I know I joke a lot, Samantha, but man, I can’t have a sister.”

“Oh shut up,” Sam snapped. “this is happening _to me,_ not you, you asshat.”

“You watch your mouth,” Dean said with no real force. He pulled back his hands and sighed. It felt like his good mood had been beaten and shackled to concrete slabs before being dragged to the bottom of the sea.

“Call Cas,” Sam said. “Call him, _now._ ”

Dean frowned and looked over at his now female, dejected-looking, uh, brother. “Dude, we can figure this out.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned to glare at him. “How? When? Three days from now? After we find the witch, or demon, or fucking trickster that did this? After it becomes permanent?”

Dean’s brows rose, “You know Gabriel’s not a trickster, right?”

“Call. Cas. Now,” Sam hissed. “I’m not pretending we can fix this one. He’ll be able to do it, just watch.”

“Hey, we hardly ever, ever need him. Why call him? He’s not gonna be able to do more than us, Sammy. If this is witchcraft, which is most likely, then he’d have to do exactly what we’d need to do. Find the bitch who did this and bleed her out.”

Sam’s hand yanked at Dean’s collar, bringing Dean’s face scarily close to his royally-aggravated sex-swapped brother. “If you don’t call him, I swear to God, I will castrate you and choke you with your own testicles.”

“Jeez, _Samantha_ ,” Dean pawed at those scary strong fingers. “Maybe it _is_ a hormonal thing with you.”

Sam shoved him away and Dean just barely managed to not crash to the ground like a giant bag of pure embarrassment.

“Fine,” he groused, sitting straight. He didn’t want to do this. They wouldn’t need no angel to come down and bless their fortunes, or whatever. But hell if Dean was gonna cut corners with Sam sitting like a ball of rage beside him.

Dean pressed his palms together like a good altar boy, closed his eyes and said, “Cas, you busy? We need your help; Lickety-split, muchacho.”

They waited. 

Dean peeked through one set of eyelashes, “He here?”

Sam grunted, “No.” Sam could seriously sound petulant when he wanted.

Dean held back a snarky response, but closed his eyes tighter. “Cas, come on, sweet cheeks. You can’t be busy. What you gotta do? Clean your room? Cas, Cas, Cas Cas, Cas, _Cas. Helloooooooo?”_

“Must you be so impatient?” a deep voice intoned from behind them. Dean jumped and spun about, not able to hold back the grin bursting across his face. 

“Heya, Cas!”

The angel stared at him, eyes dark as an evening sky, brows furrowed like always. “Dean,” he said stonily. Dean smirked wider; what a weird, awkward dork Cas was.

“We need your, uh, help,” Dean said, slapping his palm to the shoulder beside him. His gangly brother-sister had turned when Cas appeared and looked as forlorn as ever, even if he was cuter without the stubble and sideburns.

Cas turned, “Sam,” he nodded.

“You recognize me?” Sam blurted in surprise.

Cas tilted his head ever so slightly, “Yes.”

“Even if he’s got boobs?” That earned Dean a punch to the shoulder. “Ow! Jesus, Xena!”

Cas’ eyes actually dropped to inspect Sam’s chest, which only made Dean bust out laughing. 

Sam just scowled at his brother. “Dean, grow up.”

“You, Sam, are unchanged,” Cas said calmly. “Though your physical body is altered. Interesting magic.”

“So it _is_ magic?” Sam said brightly.

Cas was about to answer when some big dude rolled up to the bar beside Sam.

“Hey there,” the guy drawled. He was pretty beefy (and cocky to boot).

Sam didn’t even look at the poor sap, “Go away,” he said sharply. His focus was Cas; Cas had answers.

“Whoa,” the guy leaned away from the bar, smirking at Dean, like they were old pals and Sam was just ‘one of those cheeky gals’. “Tough crowd. Was just trying to buy a young lady something to dr–“

Sam didn’t even think about it. He just turned, grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt and _hoisted._ The guy gasped, caught under Sam’s glare. “I _said._ Go. Away.” Sam hissed like the dangerous hunter he could be. He released the guy, who fell and stumbled, barely able to right himself before landing on his ass. The creep coughed and spluttered, red in the face, but clearly perturbed if the roundness of his eyes said anything.

Dean smirked and waved his fingers. “Better luck next time, sugar,” he cooed. This was fucking _priceless_.

“Damnit,” Sam sighed, rubbing his hand over his hair. “Where were we?” 

“I think we were just gonna start on about how hilarious it is that guys are gonna start mackin’ on you,” Dean smirked so wide you could see all his teeth. Sam stared him down. “How’s it feel to be the centre of attention, princess?”

“That man over there is also enamoured by you, I believe,” Cas said calmly, indicating behind Dean. 

Dean twisted. “Heh,” Yep, that _right there_ was the look of a strange dude who was all but misting at the sight of darling pretty-haired Sam Winchester. The guy noticed them staring, blushed and sharply looked away. When Dean turned back, Sam’s face was thunderous.

“Don’t be too alarmed, Sam,” Cas said. “You do make for a striking female, even if the attention is unwarranted.”

Dean jerked back and stared at Cas. “What? You think Sam’s hot? Dude, that’s sick.”

Cas blinked at him slowly. “How so? Sam is equally attractive as a female as he is when male. That should not surprise you.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean was aghast. “You need to get your eyes checked, buddy.”

“My vision is better than yours, Dean,” the angel answered simply. “And Sam’s bone structure dictates his appearance. He has an equally-proportioned, balanced face and a physique which contributes to her attractiveness. I have been studying human physique lately.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean said sharply. There were way too many questions about what the angel got up to when not bothering the Winchesters.

“Also, the transference of such traits meld easily with other traits seen in females that most other humans would find attractive. Admittedly, he has less muscle mass, but that does not detract from his female form.”

Dean stared at Cas like he’d just crawled out of the sewer like some kind of super-powered turtle.

“Oh,” Cas blinked, noticing Dean’s gaping mouth and shocked face. “You do not appreciate such comments about your own sibling.” Cas nodded, as though he was some wise old sage. “I understand. To ease your mind, I can say that you and Sam share similar traits. Were you female, I believe you too would be very attractive as well.”

“So you’re saying… I’d make a hot chick?” Dean squinted at Cas.

“Most definitely,” Cas nodded. “Your universally pleasing bone structure and genetics make you quite attractive in either form. I believe that even as a male dressed up as a female, you would turn heads.”

“… _what_?” Dean repeated, dazed.

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. “He’s saying you’re a hot potato, Dean. Or drag queen material. I dunno.”

Cas squinted. “I would think an over-warm edible tuber would be less than complimentary, Sam.”

Dean just stood there all red in the face. Cas thought he’d be a hot chick? And dude? A currently hot dude? Sure, Dean knew he was a fine-ass piece of man, but … but to think …

“ _Anyway,_ ” Sam cut in. “You said this was magic, right, Cas?”

The angel stared at Dean a moment longer before turning. “Yes. Very simple, elegant magic.” He looked over the ceiling as his eyes trailed around the bar. “This place is enchanted.”

Dean scowled at the woodwork. _Damnit, focus_. “The whole place?”

Cas nodded. “It is not a harmful magic. It is pleasant, calming even.”

“Not harmful?” Dean bit out, “My brother is a friggin’ girl. I mean, he acts like one all the time, but this is a bit overboard, even for him.”

Cas nodded as though this was a normal conversation about the weather and not Sam’s gender switcheroo. “Indeed he is.”

The Winchesters stared at him.

“Well?” Dean leaned in, brows raised.

“Can you fix this?” Sam finished. “Please say yes.”

Cas frowned. “It is a simple fix, Sam. Though I don’t understand why you’d need to ‘fix’ anything. The spell acts upon entry to this place.” Cas looked around the room. “I would think that quite a few of the women here did not start out so.”

Dean made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Wait, you mean this is like, a permanent thing? This spell?”

Cas thought for a moment. “The core of the spell sits within these walls. It does not impact anything outside. If I am not mistaken, I believe the regular patrons expect this every time they come here.”

Dean and Sam just stared.

“Is this-“ Dean started, “Is this a–a y’know, one of those, like, uh –“

“Is this a queer bar?” Sam asked.

Cas blinked. “That term is … suitable. Yes.”

Sam leaned back and sat down. “Wow.” He looked around as though seeing everything properly for the first time. “What a neat idea.”

“I don’t get it,” Dean uttered, kind of angry for some reason, “But I also don’t give a rat’s ass. Fix Sammy, Cas.”

“Wait, why didn’t Dean get changed?” Sam asked, lights in his eyes. “Why just me? We came in here together.”

Cas pondered that as he scanned Sam, then eyed Dean carefully. “I do not know,” Cas said. He tilted his head towards a table of mixed genders. “Those men over there did not transform either. A fascinating point.”

“Maybe you were meant to be a chick,” Dean snorted. “Or I’m too much man to contain.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Oh, please. You’d make a terrible woman.”

“What?” Dean pouted, “I’d be hot as hell! Cas says so!”

“Not the point at all, Dean,” Sam sighed. “I dunno, maybe it’s random. Whatever. Normally I’d care, but this isn’t worth it. We gotta go.”

Dean snorted and pulled out his wallet. Okay, so maybe calling Cas had been way more efficient than his first plan. Looks like no one was gettin’ stabbed tonight. First time for everything. He threw a few bills on the bar.

“Let’s blow this pop stand before we all grow vaginas.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Cas said. “Plus, I do not think they can grow like a plant. It’s more as if–“

“Cas, shut up,” Dean threw an arm over Cas’ shoulders, shaking the angel and followed Sam out. “Dude, if I had a hoo-haa, I’d have to give up hunting. Wouldn’t get anything done.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas murmured as they exited the bar, out into the cool night. “Female hunters are just as capable as their male counterparts.”

“Naw, I’m not talking about skills, man. I’m talking about how distracting it would be down in the pants-region, know what I’m saying? Civilization would fall because everyone would be too busy jamming–“

“Do _not_ finish that sentence, Dean,” a very male, very Sam-sounding voice said from the dimly-lit parking lot.

“Sammy!” Dean crowed, realizing he hadn’t even been worried if the spell would cease. “Oh my God, your hair! Wait… oh, no, nothing’s changed.”

Sam made the bitchface Dean loved so much. Dean smiled wide, arm still slung over Cas, still dragging the angel along.

“Ha-ha,” Sam said, standing tall. Guess he could feel the difference, judging by the way he cricked his neck a shoulders. Dean didn’t want to ask. Too many questions, too many scary answers. At least the guy’s jeans weren’t about to fall down anymore.

 

Sometimes magic didn’t make the world a more terrible place. Go figure.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when Cas had flown off after something hindering the angelic plane, Sam and Dean were left to coast along another darkening Mid-West highway. They saw a lot of random crap, if they were honest.

“It’s like that stupid alien abduction thing, you know?” Sam said as rain began to smack against Baby’s windshield.

“You mean the time it turned out to be a trickster making asses of students and a messed up pervert professor?” Dean responded with a smirk. “A trickster that turned out to be one of the biggest, dumbest archangels in the history of the universe?”

“Exactly, sort of. But, I guess not really,” Sam sighed. 

“Nice to have you back, Sammy,” Dean laughed.

Sam huffed and shook his head. “Man, Dean, we see so many weird things, I mean, why aren’t we half insane because of it?”

“Who says we ain’t?” Dean answered. “You tell me ten years ago that you woulda spent a grand ten minutes of your life as a woman? Man, I woulda socked your face in and signed myself into a loony bin for believing a word.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah,” he sighed again, almost wistfully. “I’m gonna mark that place down on the map.”

Dean eyed him, “What the hell for? Sweet memories of being hit on by douchenozzles?”

“Only one, remember?” Sam tilted his head, meeting Dean’s gaze.

“There woulda been more,” Dean snorted. 

“Okay, yeah, stop that train of thought,” Sam shuddered. “I don’t need any memories of my brother thinking I’m a hot chick.”

“Dude!” Dean barked, “I didn’t say that. Gross.”

Sam cackled. “Cas said I was aesthetically pleasing, didn’t he?”

Dean snorted, “Yeah, cos he’s such an authority on gettin’ tail.”

Sam was eyeing him, Dean could feel it. Baby rumbled along beneath them, taking them further away from that crazy tavern with its interesting proclivities.

“He wasn’t hitting on me, Dean.”

Dean glared at Sam, like, _how dare he?_ “I know, that, you freak!” Dean blurted. “Hell, that idiot probably couldn’t smooth talk his way onto a greased basketball court.”

Cas hitting on Sam. Come on! Ridiculous.

“He said you were attractive too, you know, in that oddball cute kinda way of his,” Sam said. 

“Dude, shut up,” Dean said sharply. 

“I’m just saying,” Sam eased, “He thinks you’re adorable.” The floppy-haired asshole was obviously trying to curb his amusement.

“He thinks fuzzy fat bumblebees are adorable. What the hell does he know?” Dean retorted.

Sam just smiled.

“Hey,” Dean said gruffly, turning to glare at his brother. “I am not a fat, fuzzy, fucking bumblebee.”

Sam did laugh then, head thrown back.

Dean’s fingers gripped the steering wheel and he clenched his jaw.

Sure, Cas did say some weird shit back there, but Dean didn’t read into stuff like that. Cas was just a wordy kind of guy. He said a lot of shit no one would ever think of repeating. 

“Your face is awfully red, Dean,” Sam cut into his thoughts. Dean dared not look over. Fuck, his face did feel kind of hot.

“Shut it,” he growled. 

“You know, it’s okay if Cas thinks you’re cute, or whatever. If that makes you red, then by all means…” Sam raised both hands in a gesture of ‘hey, that’s life’.

“You’re-“ Dean huffed, “Yeah, well, your butt is red.”

“Really? My butt?” Sam answered.

“I said shut up!”


	3. Chapter 3

_“When you and Cas get together, bad things happen.”_

-

 

“So you think it’s haunted,” Dean said, checking the salt rounds.

“Maybe,” Sam answered, fingers ticking across his keyboard from where he sat, back against the motel headboard. “People have been seeing things move and apparently the victim, a woman, was found hanging from one of the displays the next morning. She was a security guard.”

“Right,” Dean locked the gun and eyed it carefully. With break-actions it was imperative they got those shots in perfectly, so not many rounds to play with. Not that he’d be needing the sawn-off for this. Undercover work was so lame sometimes. “So we sneak in and bust some ghostly chops.”

“Hold it,” Sam said, looking up. “We can’t go in there all cock-eyed. It’s going to be busy, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know, Sammy,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Why else would we be all trussed up in these monkey suits?” He indicated the crisp black suit they’d bought on one of their newer stolen cards. Much nicer than the itchy substitutes they fumbled around in as feds. “What’s this thing, this event for again?”

“Annual fundraiser,” Sam muttered, focusing on his screen again. “Rich schmoozing.”

A rumble suddenly ran through the motel, like thunder rolling. Dean’s cleaning kit rattled on the unsteady motel table. The wooden walls creaked and shuddered because, of course, they were in the cheapest motel this side of the Interstate.

Dean looked up. “The hell is that?”

Sam was paused, eyes steady. “Uh. Earthquake?”

“What? We in earthquake country? Don’t be messing with me, man,” Dean snapped. “Are you kidding? I’m not cool with earthquakes.”

Sam was still, “Uh, well, if you’d take a second to breathe, you’d realize it stopped.”

Dean eyed his brother. Sassy sonuvabitch.

“What?” Sam said.

“You’ve been on that thing all day,” Dean grumbled, putting his kit away into its rollout pouch; A gift from Cas from their last ghoul hunting case. Made from homo habilis-era animal skin hide or something. Whatever, it was handy.

“Yeah, _researching_ , Dean,” Sam huffed.

“Research? Whatever. We had most of, if not all the info the minute we rolled into town.” 

“ _Whatever_ ,” Sam repeated in a whiny tone. The two of them had been griping and sniping for days now. Close quarters did that to a guy. What with Sam’s gas and Dean’s obscene singing, they were about ready to burst with unbridled sibling rage. Dean loved his baby brother, he did, but he could see himself in prison for fratricide any day now. They were cutting it close.

“Maybe you should sit this one out,” Dean said, slipping out of his jacket so he could strap on his holster.

“Maybe _you_ should,” Sam retorted. “Actually, no, I might sit it out because I’ve done pretty much all the work so far for this case and I could get some vacation out of this.”

“Oh, you wanna go there, huh?” Dean stood up and secured his holster. “Listen up, princess, who the hell drove your fatass across this blessed country to get here? Who else had to sit through your relentless bitching about my music, my food choices, my damn side of the _room_?” The earlier argument about Dean’s underwear and socks littering the floor had gotten a bit heated.

“And you call me the princess,” Sam huffed.

“Hey!” Dean strode across the room, fully intent on shoving Sam sideways. “You think this–“

“What the–” Sam yelped as the lamp beside him suddenly lifted clean into the air. Dean jumped when the other lamp freakin’ rose too, all shaky and weird. He stumbled back.

“You pulling some mind-reader crap, Sammy?” Dean barked. The lamps dropped and an audible crack indicated that at least one had been damaged.

“No!” Sam said loudly, scooting off the bed, laptop thrown aside. “What the hell was that?”

“It was you!” Dean waved his arms. “Your creepy brain-moving hoo doo!”

Sam glared at him. “It wasn’t me, Dean,” Sam advanced on him grimly. 

“Whoa!” Dean’s hands went up as, once again, the lamps lifted sharply into the air. A nearby ashtray rose and even the edges of the bedsheets ruffled weirdly. Sam froze. “What the fuck, Sammy?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well fix it!” Dean’s eyes flicked around. The leaflets on his bedside table were shifting, lifting too.

“It’s not me!” Sam bellowed. “Maybe it’s you!”

“Or the ghost!” Dean said, stepping back.

With a loud clatter, everything dropped as one unit. 

The two Winchesters stayed stock still. Dean’s eyes met Sam’s. “This is weird, right?”

Sam looked flustered and he chewed his lip. “This is … weird, yeah. Can you … can you step closer?”

Dean cocked a brow. “What? You need a hug? You feelin’ delicate?”

Sam bitchfaced so hard, Dean was impressed that his eyes didn’t cross. “No, you idiot,” Sam bit out. “Just come here.”

Dean raised both brows and took two steps forward. The lamps, ashtray, sheets, Sam’s laptop and even Dean’s freakin’ loaded gun rose into the air like some kind of possessed items from a Casper comic.

“Christ on a cracker,” Dean whispered. He stepped back and everything crashed back down, one of the ceramic lamps officially giving up on life and splitting apart, straight down the base. Dean gaped at Sam, who mirrored him perfectly.

“I’ve heard of this,” Sam breathed, hands wavering in the air. “I knew this freakin’ case was flimsy.”

“You heard of something like this before?” Dean asked, stepping back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam carefully scorched back onto the bed. Both brothers were now eyeing everything warily. “It’s not a ghost, but it’s kind of tied to a ghost.”

“Whaddya mean it isn’t a ghost? A poltergeist?”

“I’ve heard people online call this thing, this phenomenon, I guess, they call it uh, something-something.” Sam pulled his laptop over and began tapping away. He chewed on his lip.

“You mind elaborating, Einstein?” Dean griped, still wondering if shit was gonna fly up and impale him. Wouldn’t have been the first time.

“It has a stupid name, yeah. Others have called it Family Ties Syndrome, as if it’s a syndrome. I mean, syndromes aren’t labeled like that because-“

“Sammy,” Dean cut in. “Get to the point.”

Neither dared move any closer. As Sam’s research explained, it was a rare ‘paranormal’ experience other UFO-believing folks wrote about online. Labeled as it was because it affected people with close connections. It was some kind of emotionally-driven tie between two or more people that affected a certain radius around them. It caused levitation (mistaken for telekinesis) and sometimes even explosions, depending on what was being levitated at the time (read: gas-stations were a terrible place for this). God help them, but the whacked websites had good info sometimes.

“So what’re we gonna do now?” Dean barked. “this fucks shit up, Sammy.”

“No duh,” Sam said.

“You are not getting in my car like this,” Dean continued. “I ain’t got time to be floatin’ out to space.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jesus, fine. Okay, how ‘bout we meet up at the Museum? I still gotta get ready anyway.”

“And how are you gonna get there, hm?” Dean said, arms flung wide. “Or are you just gonna skip this out like you wanted?”

“I’ll call Cas.”

Dean snorted“Like he’ll even show.”

Sam looked up, brows quirked, “On his cellphone, Dean. Remember? We know he only listens to your damn prayers anyway.”

“Oh shut up,” Dean snapped, leaning down to snatch up the black blazer he’d dropped earlier. Grabbing his handgun, he backed towards the door. “These damn things better be related.”

“Well, ghosts, or poltergeists, can lift things, right? I’m sure the floaty-stuff is related, but Cas’ll know.”

Dean grunted. “I’m gonna go get grub. See you at the damn Museum in thirty?”

“Aim for an hour,” Sam sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked as tired as Dean felt. Like he needed a shower too.

“Fine,” Dean grunted, jangling his keys. “And bring Feathers with you. We might need backup on this.”

 

—

 

“You know, you could’ve told me what kind of damn gala exhibit-thing we were going to!” Dean hissed as he wandered through the very crowded main hall. He had his phone pressed to his ear, trying to _not_ look like a guy scoping out the joint for ghosts.

“Like it really matters, Dean,” came Sam’s tinny voice over the line. 

Dean stopped and looked up, way up, at one of the exhibits. “Dinosaurs, Sammy. It’s a fuckin’ dinosaur exhibit.”

“Yeah, I know, Dean.”

“So this isn’t weird? I mean, are we sure this ghost is even human?”

He heard Sam huff, “You honestly think a T-Rex ghost is killing people in town? A sixty-four million year-old old monster has decided now is the time to strike?”

“Hey, dinosaurs have feelings too ya know,” Dean bit, catching a bespectacled lady staring at him. He smiled cheaply at her. “Where are you assholes anyway?”

“We just arrived,” Sam answered. “You have to steer clear, okay? Don’t forget-“

“Yeah, yeah, no weird floaty shit. Twenty feet or whatever at all times. Got it.”

Cas had more info on shit like this. A ghost could, apparently, still affect an area, or person, even if it’s body had been burned three towns over. If a person died with enough anger, enough animosity, it’s emotions could transfer over to living people. It was crazy, but made sense, considering how incidents about levitation and mass-killings were popping up in the region. It was spooking the local cops and exciting the damn alien-huggers.

“Stick to the perimeter and try to find the book.”

Because of course there was only one item left behind by the douchebag who’d caused all this; it was some musty old diary the stupid evil had written with the blood of his victims, or something. Man, couldn’t evil psychos get more creative?

Dean peered over the crowd of well-to-do people with their champagne and bow-ties and sequins. He spotted Sam with his floppy hair right near the entrance. He couldn’t see Cas, but Dean could guess the angel was close to the younger Winchester. Dean’s job was to stay clear of them. The anger and annoyance bubbling between the brothers was obviously being triggered by the ghosty. They couldn’t get too close, else their _emotions_ could set off a chain of events resulting in impaled museum-goers and the like. And Cas was sticking close to Sam, so Dean had to be away from him too.

Humph.

This left Dean staring at the labels of random artifacts by himself.

Some exhibit pieces were about the animals and bones that were rebuilt for the exhibit. Others focused on carvings and tools used by ancient cavemen or some shit. Dean eyed a clay pot with a massive chunk missing. Man, whoever made the thing probably didn’t intend for their rice pot being on display in a fancy snoot-fest thousands of years later.

Dean hoped that when he died, they (the world leaders) would immortalize him in bronze; Only fitting, really. A shrine wouldn’t be half bad. “And here he lies, a king among men, a hero,” Dean looked over a placard. “And with an ass that just wouldn’t quit,” he hummed quietly to himself.

Sounds behind him made Dean twist slowly.

A couple was trying to not sound like they were arguing. Shoot. Didn’t the ghosty liked emotional turmoil? Cas had warned them of this. Any close emotional connections could escalate and affect the natural physics in the room.

Sam’s text said they’d found the book.

 

\- _Can you make a distraction? We can’t get to it without people noticing_

 

The couple nearby was getting loud. God, and the woman’s dress was fluttering strangely. Dean was good at distractions, but maybe this time, he could just let the ghosty have its way instead.

Dean felt a jolt run up his legs. Someone gasped. Shit, no the couple were hissing and sniping, and oh, God, he could see a few other people with glares and angry spouses nearby. Right on time. A deep rumble ran across the room, making the chandeliers tinkle. The volume of voices grew sharply and the tension could be cut with a damn knife. A waiter stumbled with crab cakes and someone dropped their champagne with a shatter.

Dean was quick enough to grab onto a nearby metal rail that skirted one of the dino skeletons and hold on tight just as a handful of museum patrons started levitating. You get one couple freaking out over canapés or 401K investments and next thing, everyone’s floating skyward like some jacked up circus event. 

Then there was the screaming, the glass breaking. Things drifted serenely through the air as panic shot through the room. They really hadn’t thought this through. Luckily for the Winchesters, they had a nifty, brainy angel with them. An angel who could actually see the damn book levitating, holding onto its ghostly owner’s bitter resentment. It was hovering somewhere near the ceiling and Cas pretty much went to town dispatching it. The roaring flames and explosion near Sam’s end of the room caused absolute pandemonium. Guests and patrons were screaming, clawing at one another as they were thrown about like puppets in a blender. One final burst of flame, and everything, everyone, just _dropped._ The hall was silent for a moment, and Dean was grateful for his railing, when the room turned into a madhouse. From his vantage point beside the Apatosaurus skeleton, Dean was privy to the panic. It was kind of hilarious watching crab cakes land on people’s heads. The residual effects were wearing off slowly, thank God and no one seemed to be injured, even though one weird dude landed on his hands like some kind of goofy gymnast in a fat suit.

The hall cleared out loudly, so Dean began looking for Sam.

“Dean,” came a familiar rumble and Dean turned, pushing a couple of drunken patrons aside. Dean would pay a million dollars to know what they thought of this night, come morning.

“Are you all right?” Cas strode over to Dean, trench coat missing, rumpled black suit in its place. “We didn’t have time to get here fast enough. I may have scared a few humans in the process of burning the ghostly luminance.”

Dean grinned and stepped away from his railing. “Scared ‘em? Damn near terrorized ‘em.”

Cas’ smile, the one he kept just for Dean, crept out as he moved closer. God, his gummy smile could melt the polar ice caps.

“Wait! No!” Sam yelled from across the room where he struggled to push past an elderly couple from the cretaceous period (probably). “Dean, don’t!”

Cas stepped closer, not more than a foot from Dean when they heard a weird scraping rumble. Cas kept moving, even as his eyes widened.

“Shit!” Dean felt his jacket lift and then his feet. “Holy crap! It’s supposed to be gone!” 

It should have been funny seeing Cas randomly lift into the air in front if him if Dean also wasn’t fucking _floating_. His mood struck the panic chord in two seconds flat.

They didn’t lift very far but Dean still grabbed at Cas’ jacket in sheer terror anyway.

“Get us down, get us down, get us down!” He wheezed, fingers squeezing Cas’ arms painfully.

“It is just a residual effect, Dean,” Cas murmured, completely unperturbed. “Our emotional connection is strong too, though you try not to think of it that way. I wouldn’t be surprised if our bond spurred the dying embers on.”

Dean wanted to throttle the idiot, but he didn’t have time because he was fucking floating higher and Cas was blabbing, and _oh God_ , he didn’t wanna wet himself. Dean’s fingers tugged at Cas frantically, pulling the angel closer. “Get me down, get me down!” His eyes were wide, staring into Cas’ unbothered face. 

Suddenly, they dropped back to the ground, Dean stumbling back and almost losing his balance. Cas caught his sleeve and hoisted him up.

Dean’s knees were wobbly. Never again.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Good thing the ghost’s fuckin’ gone.”

The thought _imagine if we’d been closer when it was still around?_ went unsaid. 

Cas was about to respond when a groaning creak had them look up. Sam came barreling into them. All three looked up.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not just, like, anger that gets this connection thing going!” Sam hissed.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean breathed as, right before his eyes, the Apatosaurus skeleton jiggled. One of the really big hip bones scraped upwards, promptly dislodging from its chosen position. This tugged at all the intricate wires holding the ancient exhibit together and Dean heard Sam’s wail just as he thought the same thing.

“Go go go go!” Sam barked, pushing at them to move.

“It’s not going to fall on us, Sam,” Cas said huffily as he was bodily removed from the main exhibit hall. “Again, it was merely the residual effect of mine and Dean’s prox–“

“Liabilities!” Sam hissed, possibly more panicked than during any other part of the evening.

“ _Move,_ Cas,” Dean barked. “We didn’t do it. We did not bust up a fucking million-dollar dinosaur exhibit. Oh man, we cannot afford the damages or jail time, you got me?”

“God, this is so bad,” Sam hissed as they joined the crowd in the foyer. In the distance behind them, they heard a wailing crash, a thundering of what was probably ancient, delicately preserved dino bones tumbling to the marble floor.

Cas raised his brows. “Hm, I may have been incorrect about the stability of the structure.”

“Fuck this noise,” Dean growled, pushing through the crowd. A few people yelled at him as he shoved past. He wanted out. No more flying, no more crab cakes, no more stupid monkey suits! No more Cas all in his face with his dumb sad eyes and stupid one-liners!

“Hey!” someone barked loudly.

A security guard barreled up to them, all two-hundred and fifty some-odd pounds glaring at Dean. “No pushing, sir,” the man growled, thumbs hooking into his belt.

“Jeez,” Dean sighed. “We just want out, okay?”

“And you will get out, sir, but you will do so in an orderly fashion at an orderly pace.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam said from somewhere behind Dean. “He’s delicate, you know? Claustrophobic.” Sam gave a weak chuckle in an attempt to ease the hulking giant.

The security guard eyed Sam, then Dean. “Yes, I can see that. Now look, see, the doors have cleared and you can make your way through the main entrance.”

Dean wanted to say something, but his stomach felt wobbly. Who was this jackass anyway? Didn’t he know they just saved a couple hundred lives back there?

“Oh, I _will_ go,” Dean said, cocking his chin higher.

“Yes, we will,” Cas rumbled suddenly, coming forward to glare at the security guard. He placed himself between the hulk of a man and Dean.

Dean blinked. _Well ain’t that adorable?_

“I will cart your asses out here myself if you boys don’t get going,” the guard said harshly, puffing his large chest out.

And Cas, Lord help them, Cas raised a hand and flipped the guy the bird.

Well, he tried.

Dean snorted even as Sam tugged at Cas’ shoulder. God, it was hilarious! There was this friggin’ angel of the Lord, bristling like a fussy hedgehog, his jaw set, his eyes blazing and his third finger raised. Not his middle one. The one beside it, because God have mercy, Cas had never ever flipped the bird. Fucking ridiculous. 

And Dean’s dying with laughter, his cheeks are hurting. He’s howling, full-body movements, as he tries to pull himself together, as Sam drags him outside. But it’s too much, too fucking stupid and so Goddamn endearing, it brings tears to his eyes. And he’s watching Sam grab Cas and pull him away, back towards Dean and Dean feels it. He feels the wobbliness in his tummy, he feels his heart skip a beat. Because Cas was trying to protect, but not harm. And he was trying to pass for human. And he was learning bad habits from Dean and _fuck,_ it was so adorable it made Dean’s teeth ache. This bastard angel was making his heart thump heavily.

He hiccuped as Sam shoved him back, got them moving. Dean stumbled and turned, hand coming up to wipe his broken, uneven mirth. Except now his eyes are wide, his giggles strained, morphing. His fingers press across his jaw, and his breath is labored.

Shit.

Cas began complaining to Sam, something about going back and telling that guard he should respect them, they’re important people.

Meanwhile, Dean’s having something akin to a panic attack because what the hell else could this pain in his chest be?

 


	4. Chapter 4

_“He’s crazy, Sammy.”_

—

 

There was the time they came across some money.

And not some itty bitty pile of savings. No, this was the motherlode. Sam managed to slice off the last vamp’s head before the nest was completely dealt with.

Cas was the one to uncover the stash under some loose floorboards he'd tripped on. Because Cas was human now and it still surprised Dean to see him so uncoordinated and, well, soft. So Cas had hissed at his scraped knee, suit pants torn and frayed. The metal box hiding under the split wood would have been just another rusty relic from a time gone by had it not also been jammed full of crisply packed hundred dollar bills. New ones too. None of that oldy-world crap vamps seemed to hold onto. 

“Whoa,” was all Sam uttered once he’d pried the lid open.

“Jackpot!” Dean had whooped, eyes wide and shiny in the visions of richness floating before his eyes. “Finally, some payback!”

Cas sat to the side of the crouched brothers, still gently poking at his bleeding knee. Dean might have spared a moment to understand Cas’ upset annoyance at his human body’s fraily had it not been for the handfuls of cash he gripped gleefully.

“We don’t know where this came from, Dean,” Sam said slowly.

“Yeah we do!” Dean crowed, flipping the bills between his fingers. “It came from some hoarding asshole freaks who deserved to be separated from their stash. Their sweet, sweet stash.”

Dean smiled at his brother. “Oh come on, Sammy! You’re not thinking about leaving this, are you?”

Sam chewed his lip. “Well, it could be stolen, or counterfeit.”

“Chyuh,” Dean huffed. “’S not like we’ve got bank accounts to deposit this into. No tracking, no cops. Don’t get all uptight and nerdy on me. Come on, we can use this.”

“But Dean, it’s not ours.”

“We steal credit cards from people and have like twenty-five fake IDs between the two of us. Don’t give me that honourable bullcrap!”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. He got up, stretching his achy legs.

“I dunno,” he muttered, pacing. “Kinda feels like blood money.”

“How do you know?” Dean cried. “You don’t know where this stuff came from! It coulda been from asshole richie-rich racists, or maybe, just _maybe_ , the vamps worked nine-to-five and saved their money like good American citizens? Does it really matter?”

Sam pursed his lips and said, “Can you hear yourself? You think these monsters were saving up for a mansion in the Hamptons and contributing to their pensions?”

“Not all supernatural creatures are monsters,” Cas said quietly.

That had the brothers pausing.

“Uh, okay,” Dean said, brows high, face full of mockery. “Why don’t we just split this? You can go throw it at the ducks and I’ll upgrade Baby’s rims. They’re all bent outta shape and my girl deserves better.”

Sam huffed. “Okay fine.” He knew he wasn’t winning this one, anyway.

“Sweeeeet!” Dean crowed, digging out more wads of money. “I’ll count it out. Split fifty-fifty.”

“Uh, no,” Sam said as he wandered around the isolated stone cabin. He nudged one of the prone bodies they’d laid out. “Cas gets a cut.”

Dean blinked and looked over at Cas, all folded up beside the hole in the floor, wounded knee, filthy clothes, dirty face and all. “Ugh, fine.”

 

* * *

 

Baby got her sweet new rims and Dean took a timeout to get them fitted. He hardly ever got to just work on the Impala anymore. It always felt right, like old times, even if this time he was laid out beside her in a truck stop parking lot.

He chose to not ask Sam what he did with his massive wad of cash. Probably hidden in a pillowcase somewhere. Sam was more of a hoarder than anyone gave him credit for.

Cas had carefully counted out what money he was handed. With no bank account, or even wallet, the poor doof had looked bewildered for a few hours before Dean had nagged him about what he was gonna buy.

“Cheeseburgers,” Cas had said, staring at the money. “I am very hungry, Dean.”

So cheeseburgers it had been. Dean had driven Cas out to the local Mickey-Dees where the former angel managed to order a pile of greasy burgers and fries to share (‘My treat, Dean’). The two men had sat there and scarfed down what they could. When Dean wiped off his fingers and slurped the last of his coke he could slurp, he found Cas staring sadly at the extra two burgers left over.

Seems Cas had issues with wasting perfectly good food and so Dean had suggested he give it to the panhandler outside. 

That was what started it, probably. 

When Sam mentioned Cas’ ratty clothing when they’d been back at the bunker a week, the dark-haired dork didn’t seem too bothered.

When a case came up and he’d wanted to join, Dean had flatly refused.

“I’m perfectly able to fight, Dean,” Cas had argued.

“Not dressed like that ya ain’t,” Dean had flipped back before heading out with Sam.

So it had obviously bothered Cas, because when the Winchesters returned two days later, Cas pounced on them, insisting he needed to purchase clothing. Human clothing. Jimmy’s trench coat was gone and there was no real reason to pretend his current gear would hold out.

If there was one thing Dean hated, it was Wal-Mart. Admittedly, on a quiet Tuesday morning it wasn’t too bad. But Cas didn’t understand shit like this. No, his eyes boggled when he’d entered the gigantic monster store just off the highway.

“How did you know this was here?” He’d breathed, slowly walking towards the clothing section.

“There’s a Wal-mart basically in every town, Cas,” Dean had sighed. Sam, the ass, had conveniently not been ‘awake’ when they’d set out for this trip.

So while Dean rolled his eyes and huffed a lot, Cas went about procuring a wardrobe of sorts.

Jeans, socks, undies, shirts, the whole shebang. Dean pushed a pair of hiking boots on Cas, while simultaneously tearing the Power Rangers sweatshirt out of his hands.

Dean found it frustrating, trying to keep Cas on the straight and narrow. Sure, the shit was cheap, but Dean would not be seen _dead_ beside him if Cas chose to wear the leopard-print yoga pants. Cas was just drawn to the weird cute-bizarre shit. More than once Dean had to steer him out of the womenswear section, explaining that people were staring.

After two hours though, Dean was done. He’d relented, allowing Cas one blue t-shirt with a round, smiley bumblebee on its front and a baseball cap with a big yellow star on it.

“The sun is much brighter as a human,” Cas had explained, as if baseball caps needed validation.

“Yeah, okay squinty McSquinterson,” Dean sighed, throwing the pile of crap onto the cashier’s conveyor.

The girl had stared at him before Dean barked, “Yeah? What?” That had scared her into doing her job.

Cas carefully counted out the amount owing and when Dean stormed off towards the door, he couldn’t help overhearing him say, “Excuse my friend. He didn’t mean to startle you,” to the cashier. 

When the two men made their way over to the car, Cas stumbling with his abundance of shopping bags, Dean had felt grumpy, out-of-sorts.

Why was he the one left to babysitting? Jeez, Sam was so lame sometimes.

Back at the bunker, Cas had disappeared to organize his new treasure trove and Dean had hidden in his own room for the remainder of the day.

That had been ages ago.

All of that crap culminated in today.

Dean and Sam waiting for Cas, _again._

“The hell is he doing?” Dean grumbled, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“I dunno,” Sam answered, leaning against Baby’s roof, tapping his phone against his lips. “I think he’s talking to that homeless lady.”

Dean turned and yeah, Cas was doing it again.

Stupid do-gooder was chatting it up with another hobo. Great.

When Cas finally made it back, they all clambered into the car to finally get out of this shitty lame-ass town.

“You know,” Dean said harshly, eyeing Cas in the rearview mirror, “You don’t have to be nice to every hobo you meet, Cas. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I think it is,” Cas responded, looking out the window.

“Yeah, well, you can’t help everyone.”

Cas looked at him then, so Dean averted his gaze.

“She was a working mother, Dean,” Cas said evenly.

“I’m sure she was,” Dean huffed, leaning his elbow out the window as they drove. “A homeless worker.”

He could feel Cas’ gaze.

“You know, Dean, just because she cannot afford to house her children does not mean she is not trying her best.”

“Hey, I’m not saying she ain’t! I’m just saying you’re gonna drive yourself crazy listening to all the sob stories. It’s depressing.”

Cas was silent.

“Um, well,” Sam started carefully. “You know minimum wage isn’t exactly enough to live on, Dean. Not that I know much, but it’s a serious problem.”

“Do _not_ talk to me about being dirt-poor, Sam.” Dean’s voice was hard. “Trust me, I know.”

“Well, then why are you harping on at Cas?”

“I’m not!”

Sam shook his head. “Fine, whatever.”

The ride was awkward all the way to the next pitstop.

* * *

 

Cas was doing it again. Talking to a group of homeless people.

Why? Dean couldn’t understand. Every day, it seemed, Cas went out of his way to talk to anyone who sat outside the coffee shop, or had a cartload of glass bottles and bags. It was getting weird.

Humanity was more than just Cas’ sympathy chip.

-

“What do you mean you’re broke?” Dean asked sharply at the kitchen table.

Sam had a mouthful of sandwich and clearly wanted no part of this refreshing argument.

“I _mean_ I have used up all the money you gave me,” Cas answered nonchalantly.

Dean gaped, torn between rage and shock.

“We got that cash two months ago! It should’ve lasted you, like, a year! What the hell did you buy, Cas?”

Cas had the audacity to just _shrug_ , like it was no big deal. He was getting complacent. With the bunker and food on his table, the idiot wasn’t thinking straight.

“You’re a damn fool sometimes,” Dean snapped, hearing an echo of Bobby in himself.

Cas chewed his own food slowly, eyes down.

Sam cleared his throat in the awkward silence.

“Well, uh, I guess we need to get you your own credit cards, huh?”

Cas looked up, “Oh, no. I have my own, thank you.”

Dean _pshed_ his disbelief.

“I lifted that man from the bridge’s wallet.”

Sam cocked a brow. “the bridge? Wait, you mean the jackass that almost ran me over the other night?”

Cas nodded. “He drove an expensive vehicle and was endangering others. Plus, he _did_ punch Dean.”

“I told you, it barely tickled!” Dean snorted.

Cas’ eyes rolled over to the older Winchester. “Regardless, he’s a media salesman for a television company. I doubt he will suffer much, but at least I now have my own credit card. Just like you.”

Just like a Winchester. Great. They’d taught Cas dick-all about being a decent human being in less than a year. Stealing, hunting, what next? 

“So, what did you really do with all that cash?” Sam asked, standing. He grabbed his empty plate and glass and made his way over to the ancient sink.

“Yeah, do tell,” Dean leaned back in his seat, sandwich forgotten on his place. He glared at Cas.

“I gave it away,” Cas said, wiping at his lips with a napkin.

“You _what?_ ” Dean almost yelled. It came out more like a shriek.

Cas looked up at him then, all round eyes and dark lashes and such a deep looked passed from him to Dean. “All those homeless people. That mother. I gave her some. She needed help and money helps, I’ve come to learn.”

Dean stared at Cas, brows furrowed.

“I gave some money to a young woman at a laundromat. She didn’t have enough to dry her clothing. She told me she was interviewing for a job but all she had were the clothes in her bag. Did you know some people have to pretend to have a home, just so they can earn a living? She said if she interviewed in her current state, they’d never give her a chance. I didn’t know that. And another man, he said he was a taxi mechanic but his hands gave him trouble. Every day he was in pain and didn’t have money for the medication he needed to support himself. I may only have been human a short time, but I can’t imagine forever living the way I had lived those first few months on my own.”

Sam, behind Dean, had turned, dishtowel in hand.

“It can be so cold in this human body. The human brain can hurt as well, as I’ve come to learn. These people cannot control their fates, as hard as they try. Heaven certainly doesn’t care.” That must suck to have to say. “I wanted to give them my money, Dean. It’s all I really had to give.”

Well, fuck.

“Uh,” Dean said gruffly, trying to clear his throat. “Okay. I guess-that’s not so bad.”

“So you gave it all away?” Sam queried. Dean swallowed and turned to eye Sam. Goddamnit, he had the sad eyes.

Cas nodded.

And there it was. Cas all over again. Thousands and thousands of dollars gone because of his stupid, dumb, big heart of gold.

Dean felt kind of ill. Man, how could he be mad at Cas for being generous to strangers? Cas was kind to kids, talked to the old folks, even petted people’s dogs in the street. This is what happened when you stripped an angel of his grace. You have a big ol’ sad-face McGee giving handouts because he has no idea what to do with himself.

Dean’s chest clenched and he felt embarrassment colour his face. He’d been such a dick, this whole time. Why couldn’t he just go with what he knew? Cas was good, through and through. 

When Cas got up to clear his plate, Dean wiped at his own face. Ugh, this feeling.

He watched Cas go, while Sam cleaned up the kitchen.

“Sam?” Dean asked, rubbing his knuckles against lips.

“Yes, you were a dick and you should apologize,” Sam answered.

Dean groaned and bent over. “You’re the worst.”

“Just do it,” Sam huffed.

Sam was right. Hell, Sam was always right.

So Dean made his way out and down to Cas’ room, only to find the former angel sitting on the old leather couch in the library.

“Hey,” Dean said, rapping his fingers against the doorframe. Cas looked up from what appeared to be a notebook. He carefully closed it and twisted around to give Dean his full attention.

“Look,” Dean pushed on, “I’m sorry. Back there. For what I said.”

Cas just blinked.

“I should’ve asked nicer, or whatever, about your money. Hell, it _was_ yours. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“I know that, Dean,” Cas said.

Curled up, feet on the sofa, Cas looked like a tired college kid in his grey t-shirt and jeans. Where was the aged and wise angel? What had humanity done to him?

“What you did-“ Dean huffed, coming further into the room. “You did good. I don’t want you thinking because I got mad, that it was bad.”

Again, Cas just stared.

Dean licked his lips. “I guess I don’t do shit as nice as that, like, _ever_ that I forget someone else might do it instead. I’m a bit twisted that way.”

Cas put his book aside and got to his feet. He approached Dean slowly, gaze not wavering.

“I don’t appreciate the way you speak about yourself,” Cas said in his gravelly tone. “You are far from twisted.”

Dean snorted, “Yeah, okay.”

Cas tilted his head. “You are kind and strong and you have saved countless lives, Dean.”

“Hey, I’m not comparing what we do here,” Dean said with a shake of his head. Cas’ words made him feel weird. “I just wanted to say I shouldn’t have been spazzing on you like that. I keep doing that and I don’t– man, I dunno why.”

“Is it perhaps because I am a nuisance to you? As a human? My presence frustrates you.”

Dean scowled, “No, Cas! Jesus, you are not a nuisance! What the hell, man?”

Cas turned his eyes away. “I’m trying. I’m trying to be better at this.”

_At being human. Being a hunter._ Dean could read that in Cas’ face.

“Hey,” Dean stepped closer, so he could see the way Cas’ brow-crease furrowed up close. Cas’ eyes met his and Dean felt that awful weird wobble in his belly again. “You’re fine. You’re great. Human or angel, either’s fine by me. You’re family, Cas.”

_You’re important_ , Dean wanted to add, but his jaw clenched tightly.

Cas sighed, eyes flickering over Dean’s face. His look was familiar, but still … not something Dean could figure out. Like Dean was disappointing or something.

“If I didn’t have you and Sam, and the bunker, I might not have shared that money.”

Dean watched Cas’ face as the dark-haired man moved away to gather up his notebook.

So what Cas was saying was that he was a lucky one. He had a home and a, well, family. Just like Dean was lucky.

Going against every fibre of his being, Dean gruffly pulled Cas into a hug. God, it was a wuss move, but he wanted Cas to _understand_.

Cas’ hands remained at his sides for a moment, before gently patting Dean’s back. He was warm, and solid and, damnit, always there; Unlike everything else.

Dean didn’t have words. He couldn’t explain shit. But he could give Cas a damn hug because he damn well deserved one.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_“The way he looks at you…” Sam shook his head. “It’s like–I dunno.”_

 

* * *

 

 

It took a while for Sam to realize exactly what was going on. And by a while, we’re talking _years_. But Sam was a smart cookie, he could read things better and faster than either of the other two dorks he played detective with.

At first it’d just been funny, this angel following them around. The way Dean would get all bent out of shape about the dickbag angel _Castiel_ and his dickbag buddies. Dean rarely focused so much energy on one person for so long. Usually he ganked them and moved on.

But Cas was cool. He stuck around longer than anyone else. Hell, he was around when Bobby passed, which meant he added to the tiny pool of people that had worked with and known the old guy. All good people.

Sam used to snigger to himself, thinking it was funny that maybe Cas and Dean were getting their wires crossed, misinterpreting antagonism for friendship, or flirtations, or something.

It was some big joke to him that maybe Cas stared too long because he found Dean as frustrating as all the girls would say he was. And yeah, Dean was fucking frustrating. The two argued so much, Sam wasn’t always sure if they genuinely could get along.

But how long is too long before you realize that maybe what you’re staring at is more than just a friendship? How long is it reasonable to smirk at the way Cas follows Dean, or the way Dean insists on helping Cas bone up on stupid pop culture? 

When Sam finally got it (like a frying pan to the face) it had felt like one part elation, and another part terror. Could Dean actually be sitting across from the one person who could make him happy? Was this actually happening? Fuck, Dean was so gonna fuck this up!

These two morons were falling in love.

And neither of them could tell.

But Sam could see it. Hell, he had to hear the whining and watch the lessons on how to butter popcorn properly. He had to listen to monologues on the history of Kung-Fu movies and the history of earth itself as told by mages.

Two idiots, one who had a distinct allergy to any and all attachments and feelings; another who was basically an alien. What could go wrong? And who had it worse?

Cas, well, he was a goner. There was no way to think otherwise. Sam was about two gazillion percent certain that their dear angel of the Lord had fallen hard, ass over teakettle for his idiot older brother. _Why?_ Hell if Sam knew. Dean was brash and arrogant and reckless and stupid at times. His abandonment and self-hatred issues were usually enough to ward anyone off.

But Dean was Sam’s brother, so he knew the deal. And Cas wasn’t just _anyone_.

It was tougher to read Dean, but Sam was nothing if not fluent in _Man-pain._  

The older Winchester still slept around. Nothing seemed to stop that, not even an apocalypse or a stint as demon.

He was mostly courteous, having his little ‘sex-ventures’ far away from their myriad of motels and, of course, the bunker. There were the handful of times that Dean had been too eager (or lazy) to move it elsewhere, though. Sam had had one really awkward conversation, explaining to Cas why they couldn’t enter their motel room. 

“Dean’s in there. Let’s go get breakfast.”

“If Dean is in there, we can tell him about-“

“No, Cas, he’s busy.”

“Busy with what? We’re his-“

“Busy with _someone else_ , Cas.”

“…”

“Man, please don’t make me spell it out.”

“… you may have to?”

“He’s got a girl, or two, in there.”

“Oh, he made friends?”

“…Yes, Cas, _friends._ ”

“I would like to meet his friends. Perhaps they can help-“

“Pretty sure they’re just fucking, Cas.”

That had put a stopper in that, even if Cas’ pouty concern just came across as adorable.

 

Cas too was a smart cookie. He started to understand that Dean’s carnal side was fairly untameable. Why Dean couldn’t keep it under wraps, Sam would never really understand. Part of it had to be showmanship, or something.

Cas wasn’t too bothered, not even when he was fully human and the intricacies of the human body puzzled him.

Admittedly, the bunker was never an option for Dean’s lady friends, but Sam would still raise a brow when Dean stumbled in at ten am, a complete mess but with a smug grin in place.

Cas, ever the sensitive friend, just asked too many questions.

He asked about the girls. What were their names? Where had they met Dean? Did they give good fellatio? All _sorts_ of things Sam would never want to know.

Dean was one parts eager to regale, and one part weirded out.

It was when Cas started poking about in Dean’s _feelings_ for these women that shit got hairy.

Did Dean have attachments? Surely he must? How could someone so brave and selfless and giving not have an open heart to go along with his open arms?

Sam had been witness to that awkward conversation more than once and he’d been as grateful as Dean when the older Winchester eventually stormed off to his room. Never show a Winchester the truth. They’ll just stab it in the face.

The two morons were so stupid, so arrogant, so fucking ANNOYING. God, they were perfect for one another!

It got to a point where Sam was just _waiting_ for it to come together. 

He wondered if it had already happened, and he was just the oblivious bystander. So he would check their clothes when they came back from a late-night hunt. He noted when they would shower, if they were squeezing in nookies here and there. Every room, every moment was a possibility! Were they necking in the laundry? Whispering sweet nothings over coffee? Was Sam slowly losing his mind? Probably, but it was something to do.

Unfortunately, the signs just kept leading Sam away from what, to him, was so fucking obvious. They never showered at the same time. They certainly never came down to breakfast at the same time (to be fair, Cas was a terrible morning person and both Sam and Dean avoided him until well after eleven). The Impala never smelled skunky and that would be the most obvious spot for Dean to make his moves, wouldn’t it? So what was Sam seeing that these two weren’t? Was it all in his imagination?

So Dean was under the impression he didn’t swing that way. Okay, fine. Cas, Sam was certain, didn’t so much swing as _swivel_. 

But _still._

It was the _looks._ It was always the damn doe-eyed mopey looks _._ God, it was so hard to believe the two idiots weren’t fucking each other into the ground when they kept _staring like that._ How could you look at someone like that, so often and not be sleeping beside them every night? Sam had had that only a few times and he still missed it. When he curled up alone in his own bed, he couldn’t understand why they didn’t have what they quite obviously needed.

They just, damnit, they just were supposed to be together! 

 

If everyone gets their own form of heaven when they die, then this was Sam’s own personal brand of hell.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_“I don’t get anything, ever, but this? I want it, Cas. I don’t care if I don’t deserve it.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Cas!” Dean twisted in the darkness of the cemetery, his flashlight fumbling. As natural as always, he threw his gun over to his current hunting partner.

A thwack and cry of pain had Dean turn back. _Damnit._

He was so used to Sam, so used to his brother understanding his every intention, that he moved without thought.

T

“Shit, Cas, you okay?” Dean rushed over, bending in the cold dirt. The crumpled shape of Cas was dark in the limited light.

Fuck.

Cas hadn’t caught on fast enough and got the butt of a sawn-off to the face. His nose was bleeding and Cas looked in pain.

“I got him!” Dean heard Sam yell from somewhere in the mist.

Okay, good.

“Here,” Dean huffed, hand pressing to the back of Cas’ neck. “Tilt your head. It’ll stop the flow.”

Cas pressed a hand to his nose and winced. “Is it broken?” he breathed. In the dim light, Dean saw dirt smudged into Cas’ cheeks. They’d been out here for hours, since midnight. Damn hauntings were so lame.

“Let me check,” Dean scooched closer onto his knees, feeling the wet mud under his denim squelching. Cas was also on his knees, where he’d fallen.

Dean carefully pressed his finger to the bridge of the former angel’s nose. Cas winced, but no sound came out. “I think you’re okay,” Dean breathed. It was dark, but he could tell Cas’ eyes were trained on him. A hand clenched in Dean’s shirtfront.

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean breathed. “I figured you’d catch it.”

Cas shifted his head. “I know. I’ll do better next time.”

Dean’s finger pressed to Cas’ cheek, feeling the smooth bone underneath soft skin. “You’re human, Cas. I don’t wanna be the one busting you up.”

Cas huffed, head lolling to the side.

“Ah-ah,” Dean took Cas’ chin in hand and tilted his head back. “Stay,” he breathed, air ghosting over Cas’ face.

“Hey, you guys okay?” Sam bellowed from the darkness.

Dean looked at Cas, noting how those blue eyes still fixated on him.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “We’re good.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’d actually met a Selkie! Shit, Sam almost exploded with geeky joy over the young kid at the local swim meet.

They’d heard word of it, but didn’t believe it to be true, until Cas had decided swimming was his newest, latest human experience worth attempting. Being the complete dork that he was, he just signed up in whatever damn town they’d ended up in. Swimming lessons at the only Godforsaken pool in a damn desolate part of Nevada. The Nevada desert, on a hunt, and they come across a selkie, of all things.

Dean might have paid more attention to his idiotic brother's squeals and _questions,_ but he’d been mildly distracted.

Cas in a speedo was somehow hilarious to Sam. Cas insisted it was standard dress sense for anyone dedicating their life to the art of swimming, like some kind of Phelps wannabe. Dean wasn’t so happy. 

Jeez, the guy was tan and fit and _thick_ in all the right (wrong?) places. He had thighs like a damn racehorse, all meat, all strength. Must be all the running (and now attempted swimming). Walking around with some kind of freak-boner wasn’t Dean’s ideal summer afternoon exercise. Because that’s what he was doing. He was sitting on some low bleachers in a very old gym, watching his idiot angel get lessons from a barely pubescent swim coach. 

He’d sat there all afternoon, while Sam geeked out over Cas’ discovery. Dean scowled when he thought of how the seventeen year-old swim-coach kid had had to save Cas’ life like three times. Sure, that was how Cas had discovered the hidden gills behind the dude’s ears, but did the kid have to drag Cas around the pool like that? Did he have to hoist a soaking wet Cas onto the tiles and stretch out whatever cramp he was suffering from?

 

Cas, it turned out, was a terrible swimmer. He just kind of sank like a stone.

“But _Dean_ ,” Sam kept wailing, “a _Selkie_!

 

* * *

 

 

“I would like to climb you like a tree.”

Dean spat his coffee across the kitchen table.

“Uh? Cas, I’m here too,” Sam said with a sharp twist to his words. Great, now breakfast was ruined.

Dean coughed a moment longer, grabbing at a napkin. “The hell man?” he barked loudly. 

“Is it not an endearing term?” Cas sat down in his now usual spot. How strange was it that the former angel was a permanent fixture these days? No more running off to do the bidding of heaven, no more grace-searching. But then there was the other side of the agreement, having Cas spewing weird shit over meals.

“Endearing? Are you high?” Dean croaked. He got up to make a fresh cup. 

“I think it is,” Cas continued. “To express sexual desire, a person can say it and the other person, hopefully of similar background and education, would understand immediately. Yet no word of sexual intercourse has been uttered.”

“Uh, sure, sure, Cas,” Sam said, sucking his teeth. “That’s pretty standard.”

“I think I would like to learn more of these, what do you call them?”

“Shit-talk?” Dean provided.

“Euphemisms,” Sam answered at the same time. “It’s a kind of euphemism.” His eyes followed Dean around the small kitchen. Dean was twitchy all of a sudden. “Be careful who you say them to.” Dean’s eyes caught his and Sam raised both brows. “It can be surprising to some if they’re not expecting it.”

Cas nodded genially. “That is a good point. Thank you, Sam.”

 

Later that evening, when Sam had finally headed off to bed, Dean cornered Cas in the hallway. “Climb me like a _tree_? Seriously, Cas?”

“Hmm, that was hours ago, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you still said it,” Dean looked about shiftily, as though somehow someone was out there, listening. As though Dean’s embarrassment and shame were palpable to others.

Cas was certain the problem, the root of the issue. “Dean, look at me,” and when Dean did look up, all Cas could see was open, unrelenting fear. Dean was scared of himself.

“You can’t say shit like that,” Dean whispered.

“You mean, I can’t say things like that _to you_ ,” Cas rebutted. “As it unsettles you. Even as a joke, it surprised you.”

“You were joking,” Dean said.

“Well, it wasn’t intended as humorous. I find it fascinating. But it’s the words that bothered you.”

Dean growled, poking a finger at Cas chest. “Don’t mess with me.”

“I would never,” Cas said gently. “You are the Righteous Man. You are more important than I will ever be. I was simply talking out loud this morning. Human language is amusing to me.”

“You do a lot of that,” Dean said, stepping back. “Talking out loud. Rambling.” He ran both hands over his scalp, ruffling his short hair. It was freshly shorn, trim and sharp, just the way Dean liked it.

“You talk more like a human, like an average guy,” Dean continued. “It’s–I dunno, kind of weird. Not bad.” He looked at Cas again and Castiel could feel his chest blossoming with warmth. When Dean looked at him _really_ looked at him, he felt a swelling inside, deep in his core. With no soul and no grace, it confused him, but it was undeniable. This man made Cas _happy._

Happiness was abstract in heaven. It was human and tainted by experience. One person’s happiness is sometimes derived from another’s pain. One person can gain happiness from others, while another person gains happiness from being alone. Food made people happy. Stupid television, and fiery debates and marshmallows in coffee made people happy. Such is the conundrum of humanity. Cas had to learn what emotions were. He couldn’t always be celestial intent, so focused, so driven by orders. He had to learn anger and sadness and regret, just like any other human being. So happiness could be abstract.

But to Cas, happiness was Dean.

As an angel, Cas didn’t understand. As a human, Cas learnt with trial and error, _how_ to understand. How to be a good man; And Dean, always beside him.

Dean looked ruffled again, like every turn in the conversation irked him. “And enough with the Righteous Man bullshit. That stuff’s not important anymore.”

“It will always,” Cas pulled at Dean’s shirtfront, making the Winchester grunt. “be important.”

“I’m also just a guy,” Dean said, voice a low rumble.

“No, you are the Righteous Man. You always were. Why won’t you listen when I say this?”

“Because it’s a crock of shit, Cas!” Dean snapped, but he didn’t pull away. Cas kept a hold on the cotton and gently pushed Dean back, back until Cas had him between against the other wall.

“I didn’t know what is was about you, Dean,” Cas murmured, gaze resting on those green eyes. “For the longest time, I thought it was the prophecy. I was the selected angel, I got to pull the Righteous Man from Hell. Never in all my existence, had I ever felt so much pride. And when I rebuilt you, Dean, it was like nothing else on earth. I felt joy at you being reborn by my hands. And even when I rebelled, when heaven was closed to me, when I lost my grace, I thought that that was what kept me by your side. That you were special. I thought you were special because I was meant to follow you.”

Dean just stared as Cas spoke. Cas looked away for a moment.

“I didn’t know it was affection, Dean. Not until Naomi. Until she broke me, over and over again. Because you, Dean Winchester were my one weakness. And angels don’t have weaknesses.”

“Dude, you don’t have to-“

“But I’m human now, and clearly nothing has changed.” Cas smiled wryly, crinkles forming beside his eyes. “You are still my weak spot. And you always will be. So don’t discount the fact you are the Righteous Man. Because if you weren’t, I would never have pulled you out and I would never have had this feeling, this lo-“

“Oh hell, no, you better not say it, Cas,” Dean pulled away, hands pushing at Cas’ fingers. They’d had this conversation too many times. But Cas was getting closer, every time. 

Cas was adamant, and so he followed Dean out into the war room. “Dean, I will say it. This lo-“

“Cas!” Dean spun about, hands to his ears. 

“I will say it even if you cannot hear me, Dean Winchester,” Cas growled, grabbing both of Dean’s wrists and pulling them to his own chest.

Through gritted teeth he said, “This …” Dean winced, “ _affection_ , this feeling, this overwhelming fear of you ever getting hurt, or dying, or leaving. Dean, if you _ever_ belittle your importance, you belittle the way you make me smile, make me happy, make me worry. Constantly.”

Through his words, Dean’s eyes had widened in fear. He’d been absolutely terrified of this. And Cas understood that Dean knew and understood. Even if he didn’t reciprocate, Cas wanted Dean to know.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, voice shaking. His eyes were soft, but scared.

“I do,” Cas murmured, leaning in close, nose barely brushing Dean’s. 

“No you don’t,” Dean grunted.

“I do. I think I always have,” Cas pressed his forehead against Dean’s.

“You’re a giant sap,” Dean whispered, finally shunting forward to press his lips against Cas’. 

And oh, wasn’t that heavenly?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Like all good things in Dean’s life, it ended up happening in the Impala.

It was unplanned, completely impulsive and way overdue.

Dean and Cas found themselves with blood pumping like crazy through their veins. The adrenaline had yet to wear off, but _damn,_ what a hunt.

“I cannot believe you threw that knife like that,” Dean laughed, falling against Cas as he shut the door, sealing them into the interior, away from the blisteringly dry cold outside.

“I have always had perfect aim, Dean,” Cas smiled right back.

“Yeah, but right between the eyes? Holy shit, dude, that is one helliuva way to go, huh?”

Cas shrugged, “He was a bad man.”

“Yeah, bad meaning a serial-killing bastard with a thing for strangling kids.”

“So right between the eyes was probably too good for him,” Cas wiped at his brow, the sweat cold on his skin. His chest heaved from their earlier fight with the psycho-killer.

Dean watched that long-fingered hand press against that tan, smooth skin. Cas was much better these days. He was a fully-fledged hunter; guns, knives and all. With Sam down at the library, it ended up, more often than not, with Cas and Dean running headfirst at whatever was plaguing whatever town they were in.

Cas had been awesome, though. Seeing him swing an axe? Unbelievable. And the way he just sucker-punched that douche right in the teeth? Breathtaking. If Dean was honest, it was more than just a turn-on. It was like fucking ballet, or a symphony, or other deep and heart-rending sensation.

“You’re a real badass, Cas,” Dean said, ruffling a hand through Cas’ messy hair. “And you need a haircut.”

“I need a lot of things,” Cas retorted, turning to stare at Dean. 

Dean licked his lips, hands still pressing against Cas’ scalp. His hair was soft and slightly damp.

“Yeah?”

Cas nodded, eyes hooded, dark even.

“I could–I mean–I could oblige?” Dean huffed, breath catching in his throat. Were they really going to do this? Dean certainly hoped so, ‘cos dirty kisses in dingy alleyways could only go so far. He’d felt Cas’ hand down his pants a grand total of once and Dean had yet to get anything near a repeat performance.

“So polite,” Cas whispered. And with no preamble, he leaned closer, pushing at Dean. And before Dean could even think about making his own move, Cas was on him. Those lips he’d been thinking about, they were there, pressing against his own. Dean moaned deeply and immediately reciprocated. “Cas,” he breathed, opening his lips so as to lick and seek and taste.

“Mhhm,” Cas responded, hands reaching up to tug at Dean’s jacket collar.

Dean knew that Cas had experience with kissing, but _this_? This was criminal. Cas was warm and pliant, but hard against Dean. It was like every fantasy _ever_ rolled into this tight, warm, familiar space. It felt like home, like Cas was everything all at once.

In seconds, Cas managed to get Dean on his back, legs splayed in the cramped space, but _God_ , they could get so close like this! Jesus, Dean could feel Cas pressing against his inner thigh, a hardness that was new, and so, so welcome.

Cas writhed on top of him, trying, it seemed, to press every inch of himself against Dean’s body.

Dean yelped when industrious fingers caressed his ribs, when hands pushed his shirts up and away. When Cas started licking and kissing, _oh hell_ , Dean was lost.

When Dean tried rutting up into Cas’ heat, the former angel didn’t shy away. At one point, Dean could recall Cas looking down at him, all wide-eyed and enraptured, a smart, sneaky hand rubbing at Dean’s cock through his jeans.

“Ugh, Cas, you’re gonna kill me, man,” Dean growled. In a matter of minutes, their clothing was gone, tossed into the backseat.

It was a tight squeeze what with two hulking dudes over six feet, a steering wheel and gearshift to contend with, but they managed. Oh how they managed.

Dean got his first ever cock in his mouth and by the sounds he made, it wasn’t half as terrifying as he’d imagined. Maybe because it was Cas, and Cas was awesome, and Cas had nimble, dextrous fingers. Fingers that tugged at Dean’s hair, followed by huffs of pleasure and whimpers of tension. Dean had handfuls of ass as he pulled Cas in, in. His head was at a weird angle against the door, but God _damn it was good._

Dean took tons of pride when Cas shivered and groaned his peaking pleasure. But Dean wanted more. He’d always wanted more. He wanted everything Cas would give him.

So Dean reshuffled them, rearranged their limbs. He managed to wrestle Cas onto his back, now in the other direction. Dean fumbled with the glovebox, seeking out his emergency condoms. It’d been a while, so he still had a few lying about.

Cas was beyond fascinated, glowing with sweat, watching Dean roll it on. Was it the action, or the dick before him? When he opened his legs wider, jeans lost, the Winchester thought it would all be over in a few shakes. Cas grabbed at his dick.

“N-nuh, Cas, wait,” Dean breathed, straddling the other man.

“You say that like this is never happening again,” Cas answered. He tugged at Dean’s shoulders, pulling him down onto his sweaty chest. Dean was held fast, lips laving at Cas’ own.

“It _is_ happening again,” Cas said gruffly. “Again and again, Dean. I’m not letting you go.”

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean closed his eyes, tasting Cas some more. Their tongues met and their lips pressed, even as Dean not-so-subtly thrust against Cas. “I want in.”

“That would be good,” Cas gasped, all proper-like. “I have lubricant packets in my jeans pocket.”

Dean stopped and pulled back. “What? You just carry lube around now?”

Cas nodded. “I thought it best to be prepared.”

Dean didn’t want to know who taught Cas that. Lord knows Dean himself only had a lube packet or two in his duffel. It wasn’t a regular expense, if he was honest.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Dean said, leaning over to yank Cas’  flagging jeans off his left leg. When he found what he needed, he turned back to the former angel with a raised brow. Cas was running his hands up Dean’s thick thighs, mesmerized.

Cas had the nerve to just nod calmly, like this wasn’t blowing his world out of the water.

“You know I’ve never fucked a dude,” Dean wriggled down, breath hitching as Cas’ very hard cock slipped beside his own. He rubbed a little more, watching Cas’ eyelids flutter. A set of fingers pressed against each hip. Cas’ hands were on him and it felt like Christmas.

“I’ve watched some pornography on the topic,” Cas said. “It was … enlightening.”

Dean pursed his lips, “Yo, porn isn’t anything like real life.”

“Please stop talking, Dean,” Cas huffed loudly.

Okay, well if Cas wanted Dean to get down to it, who was he to argue? The lube was a bit tricky. Kind of lost the sachet a couple of times, slippery thing.

But once fingers were involved and Cas started making those _noises,_ ugh, Dean was gone. He wanted to hear more. God, Cas was so responsive as he wriggled a finger or two.

Cas was pretty much a wreck by the time Dean slid home. It was a damn tight fit and Dean had to grit his teeth and pause.

When Cas shifted those sinful hips, Dean had sputtered. “Wait! Cas, _Jesus_ , wait-wait a sec.”

“Now,” Cas insisted. His hands tugged at Dean’s hips and ass. With Cas splayed out as best he could, legs akimbo, Dean could only really think about how they needed a bed next time. Like, maybe his own bed, back at the bunker. He could easily imagine Cas sprawled out on his nice bedsheets, limbs splayed. Mmmm, yes. Definitely.

Dean started slow, every inch, every slide making him shiver.

At one point, he nudged something which made Cas wriggle and breathe faster.

Then he really got going. Holding Cas’ hips down, Dean thrust in. He pulled out slow, thenslid in again, over and over. Cas’ hands traveled, swiping over his chest, his arms, his back, until they settled, wrapped around Dean’s neck. They were slick, and sliding against one another, with Dean’s hard cock pushing deep into Cas. Dean’s right leg was going numb, but he kept going, feeling every squeeze, every gust of a whine erupting from Cas’ swollen pink lips. God, if they’d just told him from the beginning that Cas would be like this? Man, Dean would have jumped him years ago.

Cas licked and kissed him, tensing as Dean went faster, their orgasms creeping closer. Dean wanted to see Cas’ face. He wanted to fill Cas up, condom or no. “Dean, _Dean-“_

He wrapped both arms around Cas’ middle, pulling the other man in tight against him as he thrust, pushed and panted wetly.

“Cas, _Cas_ , baby, come on,” Dean breathed, licking at Cas’ cheek, chin, neck. “Yes, oh _God_.”

“ _Unh_ ,” was all Cas could manage before he tensed, stomach pressing up against Dean. A sharp heat spattered between them and that just set Dean off. He growled into Cas’ neck as his cock slammed home one last time.

Dean rumbled into Cas’ skin, arms squeezing tight.

It felt like heaven, like splintering morning sunlight, like home.

Cas had minute shivers jolting him every few seconds, which made Dean smirk.

He pulled shakily up, staring down at a very fucked-out, exhausted Cas.

“Dean,” Cas stuttered and pulled him back down for a deep, delving, wet kiss.

Still tied together, they made out like they had all the time in the world, wrapped up in each other.

 

* * *

 

 

Well, so much for subtlety.

Sam crowed like a damn fool when they made it back to the bunker.

Cas said it might have been Dean’s completely fucked up hair that gave them away. But then Dean said the hickeys on Cas’ neck weren’t helping their case.

Sam just said it was ‘obvious, duh, you morons’ and rolled his damn eyes like he was the freakin’ Wizard of Oz.

And more importantly, why the hell was Sam so fucking elated? Jeez, the guy was creepily invested in their sordid lives sometimes.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, Cas would end up being the longest relationship Dean ever had. Huh, go figure.

It seemed kind of unfair to feel this happy, but hell, who cared anymore?

The hunting community at large was pretty unfazed. Seems a lot had been assuming they’d been banging the whole time, which kind of annoyed Dean.

“I’ve been sleeping with chicks this whole time! Who do they think they are? Who do they think I am?”

“A man in a loving, tender, very much homosexual relationship with a celestial being?” Sam supplied over his afternoon magazine read.

Dean had pointed an accusing finger and said, “You have a good point.”

And so it went.

There were hunts that caused them to fight, like the time Cas was almost beheaded by a damn werewolf and Dean had yelled at him for twenty minutes for being so careless. It was a pretty bad fight until Sam checked on them, only to find them half naked in a damn truck-bed, all decency thrown to the wind.

There were hunts where Sam had to snap his fingers a lot, to get the other two to _focus, Goddamnit._ Seems once they got that engine rolling, the old Dean/Cas steam train was on full tilt _all the time._

Then there was the time when they were still sharing motel rooms and the two idiots thought they could somehow get their love groove on when Sam was still in the room. Nope. No way, separate rooms going forward, ungrateful bastards. 

There was the time they used Cas as bait and Dean had been thinking of murder and ‘Oh hell no, that is a terrible idea,' while actually saying, “Yes! What a great idea!” so as not to sound like a wussbag. Lots of murdering of bad guys went down that night.

As a trio, they worked out fine. Cas on translation, Sam on research, Dean on kick-assery? What’s to hate?

 

* * *

 

 

One time, Sam used the term ‘old, married couple’ and Dean hadn’t spoken to him for a week.

 

* * *

 

 

Another time Rudy had commented on whether or not Dean was gonna throw in the towel, seein’ as he was all setup with a nice boyfriend and such now. Hang up the ol’ hunting rifle, settle into suburban life as he deserved.

Dean had never been more insulted in his whole life. 

When he stabbed a vamp in the gut, later that night, he’d said as much.

Sam didn’t think the dead vampire cared too much.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d been running for what seemed like forever. Cas’ chest burned but he was getting better at pacing himself. Hunt after hunt, he was faster, stronger. Every cut, every scrape was just a chapter in his book of successful hunts. 

Dean had turned to him chest heaving.

“I don’t want a freakin’ husband, or a boyfriend, or whatever. Ugh. It sounds so messed up.”

Cas breathed heavily. “Now isn’t really the time, Dean,” he gasped, hands pressing to his own knees. “The ghouls are-“

“But I want _you_ , you know?” Dean was gruff, knife still grasped in one hand. “I never wanted a girl, kids, family in this life. I never could have it. But you–I can’t _not_ have you with me. It would be, it would be fucking terrible.” He was smeared with engine grease and coal dust, his hair standing up all over, his clothing damp and grimy. 

They were in the middle of a damn case and now was the time?

Cas shook his head and stood back up, feeling the aches in his joints. Why had it been a Winchester he’d fallen for? Why the one man on earth who could talk smack about anything to anyone with a knife at his throat, but not ever talk about what was really going on right in front of him?

“I know you do,” he huffed.

“No, listen!” Dean stepped up close, grabbing Cas’ shirt. “I just- you know-I never said it. Or maybe I never will. Whatever. I don’t want you to go. I can’t handle it if you get hurt, so God help me, Cas. If you fucking die on a hunt, or leave me, I’m dragging your ass back from whatever hell or heaven you end up in. You got that? No fucking choice.”

Dean glared at Cas, so close that the golden flecks in his eyes flickered amongst the green. Such amazing, passionate eyes. He was so beautiful, it made Cas’ breath catch.

Cas slipped both hands under Dean’s canvas jacket, feeling a strong torso hidden under thin cotton.

He nudged his own nose against Dean’s. “You don’t have a boyfriend, I would never dare insinuate such a thing.”

“Damn right,” Dean growled over his lips. Dean pawed possessively at Cas’ borrowed, slightly too-big brown leather jacket. 

“You have a partner,” Cas finished, eyes flicking up to Dean’s. He smiled wider.

Dean blinked, then nipped quickly at Cas’ lips. “Yeah … okay.”

And then they were off again, Dean leaning back to grab at Cas’ wrist as they ran through another abandoned warehouse district intent on destroying another monster.

 

\- THE END -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any spelling errors. I have a bit of difficulty picking them up (spellcheck or no). Feel free to shout them out, folks. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, it's done and posted and the art is amazing and ahahhaaa! Thank you for reading this little story.
> 
> Feel free to check us both out on tumblr: [Nejinee](http://nejineee.tumblr.com) & [gabrielseductivetrickster](http://gabrielseductivetrickster.tumblr.com)


End file.
